


Like the Wind

by iminthewrongstory



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Dirty Dancing Fusion, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, But He Doesn't Mean It, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fluff and Smut, How Many 80s Movies Can I Stuff in Here?, M/M, Miscommunication, Phil Coulson's Gigantic Family, Phil is oblivious, Reversed Canonical Age Difference, Surprising Lack of Dancing, The Role of Antagonist Will Be Played by Tony Stark, but really just fluff (and smut), gratuitous pop culture references, the tiniest bit of angst, very brief mention of dub-con in a character's past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-04 23:26:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 33,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1797193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iminthewrongstory/pseuds/iminthewrongstory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Avengers/Dirty Dancing fusion.</p><p>The summer after his freshman year in college, Phil Coulson thinks he's got things figured out.  Then his family goes on vacation and he meets an archer who turns his world upside-down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Family Vacation

**Author's Note:**

> Because it had to be done. :)
> 
> I am not an expert in law, archery, any kind of shooting, hotel management, or international diplomacy. Please handwave at your discretion.
> 
> Note: Phil and Clint's age difference is reversed to fit the fusion - Phil is 18/19 and Clint is 23.
> 
> All rights belong to Marvel Studios. I'm just playing in their sandbox. (Okay, the Coulson family OCs are mine. But everyone else - literally - is a Marvel character.)
> 
> Now with a banner!

“I still can't believe you're dragging us to this place,” Jennifer groused. “We could be on a cruise right now.”

Phil glanced up from his tablet and gave his sister a skeptical look. Not only had the family had this discussion multiple times, but did she really think their parents would change their minds while they were on their way to the resort?

Mrs Coulson's sigh was long-suffering. “A cruise was too expensive to bring the whole family.”

“And your mother's afraid of pirates,” Mr Coulson added mildly.

The kids laughed at their mom's cry of mock-outrage. She had been planning this trip for most of a year – she had turned 60, her husband had turned 65, and it was their 35th wedding anniversary. She was determined to get all her children and grandchildren in the same place for as long as possible.

(And if she'd decided this when her two late-in-life kids left for college and her empty nest was suddenly overwhelming, well, she wasn't admitting anything.)

“You'll have fun,” she promised. The edge in her voice suggested that there might be consequences if they didn't. “It'll be like summer camp.”

The kids were dubious. “I don't know, Ma,” Jen said. “It just sounds a little old fashioned.”

“Maybe we need a little old fashioned,” Mr Coulson replied. “Besides, we're here.”

They all peered out their windows as the winding drive came to an end, curving around a beautifully manicured lawn. The grounds of the resort sprawled out between a sparkling lake and the surrounding forest. Over the main building hung a banner that proclaimed, “Welcome to Santa Maria In The Pines.”

“This place is unreal,” Phil marveled. “It's owned by Stark Industries, right?”

“Right,” his father confirmed. “I believe Maria was the name of Howard Stark's late wife.”

“That's a little creepy,” Jen said with a grimace.

“She had to have been a saint to put up with that man,” Mrs Coulson grumbled. When her husband sighed, she protested, “What? I said I'd be civil.”

Jen got out of the car and looked around. “Ooh, I changed my mind,” she announced. “Phil, check it out.”

Phil circled the car and followed his sister's gaze. Standing out among the arriving families were the resort's staff members – men and women in their 20s, carrying tablets and wearing matching cargo shorts and t-shirts. Rationally, Phil knew they couldn't all be gorgeous, but that was certainly the impression he got. “Wow.”

Chuckling, Jen grabbed his hand and squeezed. She was the only member of the family he'd ever really come out to. Not that he was worried about a negative reaction; he knew they'd be supportive. But the Coulsons had a tendency to discuss and analyze everything to death. The basic sex talk had been mortifying enough without getting into specifics.

(Technically, he never came out to Jen. He didn’t have to – she’d been his best friend since birth and may well have figured it out before he did. The first time he'd dazedly announced that he had a date, Jen had asked if it was with the cute guy who'd waved at them in Starbucks, and that was that.)

“John! John Coulson!” A man with iron gray hair and an impressive mustache descended on them.

“It's good to see you, Howard,” Mr Coulson said warmly, shaking the man's hand. “You remember my wife?”

“Of course, of course. Mary Alice, you're looking lovely as ever.”

“Stark,” Mrs Coulson responded. She yanked her hand away when it became clear that Mr Stark was going to kiss it rather than shake it and tried to play the motion off as a gesture towards her children. “These are our two youngest. Jennifer, Phillip, this is Mr Howard Stark.”

The kids nodded and did their best not to flinch when Mr Stark grinned and clapped them on the backs. “I'm so glad you guys are able to join us for the summer. Your dad saved my ass a couple of years ago and I’ve been trying to get him up here ever since. We're going to take good care of you. Tony!”

The young man who sauntered over in response to the summons had Stark's slight build and dark eyes. He also had dark hair, full lips, and was almost disconcertingly pretty.

“This is my son Tony,” Mr Stark introduced. “Tony, this is John Coulson and his family. Make sure they get settled.”

“I don't –” Tony broke off as his father turned away to greet another family. He gestured vaguely, as if that might make a tablet suddenly appear in his hands, then flashed a smile. “Yeah. No problem. I got this. Just give me a sec.” He scanned the crowd and raised his hands to cup his mouth. “Sitwell! Hey, Geek Squad!”

The young man who approached this time was actually prepared. He gave Tony an annoyed look. “Can I help you?”

“Take these nice people to their rooms, willya? Coulsons, Jasper Sitwell. Jasper, Coulsons.” With another sharp smile (that lingered on Jen but passed over Phil entirely), Tony disappeared back towards the main building.

Jasper watched him go. He muttered something under his breath in Spanish that sounded distinctly uncomplimentary. He was the first young staff member they'd seen who didn't look like he might model in his spare time – short, heavyset, glasses – which Phil found guiltily reassuring. Then Jasper smiled and he was so adorably charming that Mrs Coulson actually cooed.

Phil sighed. It was going to be a long summer.

>>>>>>

By the time Phil, Jen, and their parents got the car unpacked, the rest of the family had arrived. Then chaos reigned. The three oldest Coulson daughters had nine kids among them – bustle, noise, and occasional screaming was totally normal.

The family had booked a four-bedroom bungalow flanked by two two-bedroom cabins. The “bungalow” wouldn't have been out of place in a modest suburb, with a full kitchen and family room along with the bedrooms. The cabins just had a small sitting room with a coffee maker.

Phil and Jen claimed one of the cabin bedrooms with twin beds and waited for the dust to settle. They were eventually joined by their oldest sister and her husband. Carina was four months pregnant and miserable; her primary objective for the vacation was to spend as much time as possible with her feet up while someone else looked after her two kids.

When 9-year-old Taylor came to check up on her parents, she did her best to drag Phil along to explore the kids' activities the resort offered. Phil was almost successful in refusing until she went to get her cousin Pippa.

“Okay, that's not fair,” he protested.

Pippa just regarded him solemnly, slowly blinking long lashes over her huge gray-blue eyes. “Unca Phil come too,” she declared. “Miss you. College is too far 'way.”

All Phil could do was admit defeat with grace. He swept the 3-year-old up and held her on his hip. “I miss you too, Pip.”

Pippa was Phil's goddaughter and she'd had him wrapped around her finger since birth. She was the youngest of the cousins; the only other girls were the two oldest. She was the only one without a built-in playmate. (It had been suggested that Auntie Carina's new baby, when it arrived, might be Pippa's special friend. Given that the new baby was going to usurp Pippa's place in the family hierarchy, the suggestion had not gone over well.)

The facilities were incredible. There were nature trails, swimming pools, ball fields, playgrounds, and both archery and rifle ranges. The kids were disappointed that there was an age restriction on those two last, though their grandma wouldn't let them learn to shoot even if they'd been old enough. Phil pocketed the range information sheets for himself – what his mother didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

Inside, there was arts and crafts and board games and dancing lessons and an unexpectedly nice library. There was also a supervised playroom designed for the under-fives; it had enough toys and dress-up clothes that Pippa condescended to be put down.

Phil tried to be subtle about stretching out his back and shoulders. He was impressed with himself that he'd been able to carry her as long as he had. Thanks to easy gym access and some high-intensity extracurriculars, his “freshman fifteen” was all muscle. (One of the bonuses of The Family Vacation That Ate The Summer was that it kept him from the temptation to seek out people who'd picked on him in high school and preen. He'd always be a nerd – and proud of it – but he was no longer scrawny.) Nevertheless, carting around 35 pounds of preschooler got tiring after the first hour.

It was also very warm. Phil left the family exploring the little kids' area and went to find something to drink, peeling his sweaty t-shirt away from his torso as he walked.

There were sounds of activity behind a set of double doors that were slightly ajar. Phil peeked in to find the main dining room. He was eyeing a table full of glasses and pitchers of ice water when someone called his name.

“Come on in,” Jasper beckoned. Phil walked over to where the smaller man was rolling silverware. “And help yourself,” Jasper added with a smirk and a pointed look at the water.

Phil flushed a bit but didn't let that stop him. He drained one glass quickly and brought a second over to the table Jasper had commandeered. “I thought you worked in the kitchen?”

Jasper shrugged. “Today's crazy. Most everybody's on welcome and registration duty, so dinner's pretty no-frills. Starting tomorrow, I'm on the line for breakfast, then on dinner prep. Don't have the seniority to actually work dinner, but I kinda like having my evenings free.”

“Sounds like a decent gig.”

“Keeps me from having to spend the summer in Miami, breaking up my sisters’ fights and listening to my abuelo complain,” Jasper said with a laugh.

Phil chuckled. “I can see that. So far, I'm failing at not spending my entire summer babysitting.”

“Well, we have lots of things for kids to do.”

“I noticed; we were just checking them out. Not so sure about what there is for me.”

Jasper gave him a considering look. “If you're not into the activities, you could hang with the staff.”

“Really?”

“Sure. But you'll get a better feel for the place tomorrow. There's nothing scheduled until the big welcome banquet, but the activities staff will be at their stations all day to answer questions and shit.” Phil was mulling that over when Jasper added slyly, “Make sure you check out the ballroom lessons. Get a head start on falling in love with Steve Rogers.”

Phil froze. “What if he's not my type?”

“Oh, Steve transcends type,” Jasper responded airily, “and orientation.”

Phil just blinked at him for a second. Then Jasper grinned and Phil realized he was being teased. He smiled back. It was odd – he didn't usually make friends easily, but this was nice.

“But seriously, you've got to go see the ranges,” Jasper said.

Unconsciously, Phil touched the pocket where he'd stashed the fliers he'd picked up. “We walked by them. They look pretty great.”

“Yeah, they're awesome. Mr Stark had them built specifically for the instructors he was trying to lock in. They were both in the 2008 Olympics.”

“Wow,” Phil said, impressed. The prospects were looking better all the time.

“Hey, speak of the devil!” Jasper stood to greet two people who had slipped in the side door of the dining room.

Phil twisted in his chair to see and promptly stopped breathing. Coming towards them was the most beautiful couple Phil had ever seen in person.

The girl was small and curvy, with deep red hair pulled away from her face. The guy wasn't particularly tall – probably Phil's height – but seemed to be all lean muscle and golden skin, highlighted by the cutoff sleeves of his staff t-shirt. His streaky, dark blond hair fell over his forehead and brushed the top edge of the sunglasses he made no move to take off.

Jasper held his fist out for a bump. “Clint, man, how've you been?”

“Hangin' in there,” Clint said, returning the gesture. He cocked his head in Phil's direction with a crooked half-smile before continuing on.

The redhead ignored Jasper's outstretched hand in favor of reaching up and kissing his cheek. “Hello, Jasper,” she murmured.

“Hey, Natasha,” Jasper responded. He held onto his composure admirably well despite turning beet red.

Over Jasper's shoulder, Natasha gave Phil a careful, assessing look. It took a huge amount of effort, but Phil stayed steady under her regard and even managed a small smile. When she nodded, he felt like he'd passed some kind of test.

“Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff,” Jasper elaborated after the pair had crossed the room to be boisterously greeted by Tony Stark and the other waiters. “Archery and sharpshooting, respectively.”

Phil pulled his eyes and attention back to Jasper. “The 2008 Olympics? They don't look old enough.”

“They were just kids. They don't talk about it much. I'm pretty sure they both had deeply fucked-up childhoods. But they've been together ever since Beijing.”

“Oh.” He wasn't disappointed, Phil told himself firmly. Disappointment implied expectation, and he knew better that to have expectations when it came to beautiful jocks.

Nevertheless, he stole another look at Clint Barton's ass before he went to find his family. After all, he was only human.


	2. Archery and Sharpshooting

“Come on, slacker, it's your turn.” Jen reached over and poked Phil in the ribs with her toes.

He groaned and rolled out of her reach. It was mid-afternoon of their first full day at the resort and they'd already checked out the stables, nature trails, lake, and ballroom dancing. Phil had insisted that they take a break after all that. (Jen had agreed, if only to give them both a chance to recover from meeting Steve Rogers.)

“You know, Ma and Pop are watching over nap time. So now's your chance to investigate the gun range without the possibility of giving Ma a heart attack,” Jen cajoled.

“Okay, okay, point taken.” Phil rolled to his feet and stretched, then followed his sister out the door. “Don't suppose you want to give it a try?”

“What, shooting?”

“Or archery. Jasper said the instructors are some of the best in the country.”

Jen wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, no thanks. That's your deal, baby brother.”

Phil bumped her with his shoulder. She squawked and shoved him off the side of the path. They continued in that manner until they reached the small building that housed the indoor range, all the way on the far side of the lake.

Natasha was already talking to a group of men, so Phil and Jen sat down in the small spectators' area. After only a minute or two, it became clear that the men were actually talking at Natasha rather than to her and they weren't listening at all. There were six of them, all “weekend warrior” types in polo shirts and khakis.

“Those dickheads just can't see past a pair of boobs, can they?” Jen murmured.

Phil shook his head. Natasha was holding herself perfectly still. Her expression was polite but completely closed off. As the men continued to talk over her, her eyes got narrower and narrower. Phil shivered – he was intimidated where he sat and she wasn't even looking at him.

It was both shocking and very much not, when one of the men reached towards the rifle sitting on the table behind Natasha and she had his wrist pinned before anybody could blink. “Don't touch that,” she said pleasantly.

The weekend warriors finally showed some sense and hastily retreated from the range. Jen nudged Phil until he got up and went over to Natasha.

“Hello again,” she greeted.

“Hi.” Phil made himself stop hunching his shoulders and took his hands out of his pockets. “I'm Phil Coulson.”

“Natasha Romanoff.” She looked curiously past him to the stands.

“Oh yeah, that's my sister Jen.”

“Is she interested in shooting, too?”

“Nah. And she's kind of scared of you.”

The tiny smile that curved Natasha's lips did not make her any less formidable. “Smart girl.” She returned her attention to Phil. “But you are?”

“I'm what?” Yeah, he was terrified, but he thought he'd managed to deflect that. “Oh, interested, yeah. I'm on a club team back at school.”

“All right. You'll need to complete a short safety course before you get started. First one is at 10 o'clock tomorrow morning.”

“Okay.” Phil shoved his hands back into his pockets and stood awkwardly for a moment before saying, “I heard you were in the Olympics. That's really amazing.”

A shadow crossed her face. “Yes. Though it probably wasn't worth being taken away from my family when I was eight so I wouldn't have any distractions during training.”

Being the offspring of two attorneys, the only thing Phil could think was, that cannot be legal. He figured that wasn't a helpful response, but he couldn't think of anything that might be. Finally, he went with, “Oh. I'm...I'm sorry.”

“That was another life. Clint saved me in Beijing and we're here now.” She focused back on Phil and gave him a small, almost apologetic smile. She asked him about the ordnance his club used, then invited him to check out what the resort provided.

“Really?” he asked, unable to get the image of Natasha incapacitating the man from earlier out of his head.

To his surprise, she relaxed enough to laugh at him. “Yes, really. Go ahead.”

Phil picked up the rifle, gaining confidence as he quickly broke it down. Reassembling it was even easier, and when he was done, he looked up to find Natasha studying him. “Very nice.”

“Thanks.”

“Have you been to the archery range yet?” she asked. When he shook his head, she added, “You really should. Tell Clint I sent you.”

“Okay, I'll do that. Hey Jen, ready to go?” he called over his shoulder. There was no response and he turned around to find the viewing area deserted. “Damn it, what happened to my sister?”

Natasha smirked. “She snuck out a few minutes ago. When you were fondling my equipment.”

“Ha,” Phil said with as much sarcasm as he could muster, given his fierce blush. He waved goodbye to Natasha and headed out towards the nearby archery range.

Unlike inside, the spectators' area outside was packed. Phil scanned it quickly but didn't see Jen in the crowd that was made up almost exclusively of women.

Clint was standing at the head of one of the lanes marked out in the grass. He was helping someone draw back on a bow, holding steady while giving instructions on stance.

Phil told himself that he was admiring the control it took to hold a draw and make it look effortless. Then Clint relaxed his hold very, very slowly, easing the tension off the bowstring, and an almost sub-audible sigh rippled through the group watching.

Yeah, the move was impressive. But it paled in comparison to how incredibly hot Clint looked doing it. Phil was in so much trouble.

(On the bright side, it wasn't as if Phil didn't have a lot of practice dealing with being infatuated with straight guys. Twelve years in a deeply conservative Catholic prep school had been a painful but effective education in maintaining the perfect poker face.)

“Hey Phil, come here!” Jen called. Phil blinked, realizing she was the person Clint was instructing. He'd been looking straight at her, but his eyes had refused to focus on anything beyond Clint's biceps.

“I know you,” Clint said pleasantly when Phil approached. “You're Jasper's friend.”

“You guys met already?” Jen arched her eyebrows. “Funny, Phil didn't mention that.”

“It was just in passing yesterday,” Phil said, trying not to sound defensive. He stuck his hand out. “Hi, I'm Phil. Jen's brother.”

“Nice to meet you,” Clint responded. His hand was warm and dry in Phil's, with calluses that rubbed pleasantly.

Phil was emphatically not looking at Clint's forearm, which was corded with muscle and had several prominent veins that would probably feel like lines of fire if Phil were to trace them with his tongue.

Not looking!

“Natasha said to tell you that she sent me out here,” he blurted.

Clint seemed taken aback by that. “Really? Awesome.”

“Yeah, she thought I should check you out. I mean, check out your stuff.” Phil shut his mouth to keep himself from digging any deeper into the mortifying hole he was in.

“I don't mind being checked out,” Clint said softly, teasing. He tugged Phil closer – easy to do since their hands were still clasped. “Want a hands-on demonstration?”

“That's not necessary.” ( _Yes, please!_ said Phil's libido, ready to sit up and beg.)

“Oh my god, Phil, you've got to try it. This is so cool,” Jen said suddenly, making Phil jump and pull away from Clint. He'd forgotten his sister's presence. Again.

Clint smirked. “Come on. I promise to be gentle.”

There was only one way for Phil to get through this with his dignity intact, and that was to give in gracefully. “Okay, fine,” he said.

Clint paused, as if he hadn't expected that, before he broke into a grin that caused his eyes to crinkle at the corners and Phil's toes to curl. “Great! Okay, this is my baby – standard ambidextrous recurve, some modifications but still within competition guidelines. She's a lot heavier than the practice bows, but it helps people to get a feel for her.”

Phil found himself unwittingly charmed by Clint's somewhat goofy enthusiasm. He smiled. “Does she have a name?”

“I call her Vera.”

Jen squeaked and poked Phil in the back. He shrugged her off and rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”

“Nah, I just always wanted to say that. Here, give her a try.” Clint held out the bow and Phil gingerly took it. They went through the basics of hand position and stance. Then Clint said, “Okay, now I'm gonna put my arms around you for the draw. You ready?”

Phil took a deep breath. “Go for it.”

Clint stepped into Phil's space and put his hands just below Phil's on the grip and string. Phil was overwhelmed in the best possible way, surrounded by warm, firm, solid muscle.

“Breathe,” Clint instructed. His voice was just a whisper of sound against Phil's ear. For a moment Phil tensed further, then he consciously released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. “Good,” Clint continued, “now pull.”

Slowly, Phil pulled back on the bowstring. He could feel Clint's body behind him, moving with him, against his arms and back. Even setting aside that distraction it was more difficult than he'd expected; his arms were trembling within moments.

“You're doing great,” Clint murmured. “Now ease up, slowly, that's it.” The soft litany of praise and encouragement, combined with their careful movement, made the situation far more intimate than Phil was prepared to deal with. As soon as physically possible, he dropped his arms and stepped out of Clint’s space. He nodded his thanks, grabbed Jen by the wrist, and marched away.

Jen put up with it until they were out of sight of the archery range. She elbowed him in the ribs until he let go, then smirked and commented, “So, absolutely nothing about that guy is fair.”

“Yup.”

“Nobody that hot should be making Firefly references.”

“Yup.”

“I'm going to need a cold shower as soon as we get back to the cabin.”

Phil looked at her sidelong and grinned. “Not if I get there first!” He took off running, with Jen right behind him.


	3. Welcome Banquet

That evening was the official Santa Maria in the Pines welcome banquet. Phil was dithering over his wardrobe choices when his father called to him.

Phil padded out into the sitting room in his boxer briefs, undershirt, and socks. “Hey Pop,” he greeted. “Hiding?”

Mr Coulson grimaced. “Your mother and Mina are dealing with the boys. I figured I could help most by getting out of the way.” Mina had twin seven-year-olds and a five-year-old, all boys, and taught elementary school. She was scary-competent at wrangling little kids. “That's an interesting look you've got going there.”

“I can't decide what to wear,” Phil admitted sheepishly.

Mr Coulson laughed. “Sometimes, you're worse than your sisters. Though you have better taste than your sisters, so I shouldn't be surprised.”

Phil blushed. “Thanks. I think. It's just...I like my suits and I don't get a chance to dress up very often.”

“And there's nothing wrong with that,” his father said firmly, clapping him on the shoulder. “Come on, show me what you've got.”

Phil ended up wearing his first choice – the deep blue three-piece suit he'd originally bought for graduation – once his dad reassured him it wasn't too formal (and even if it was, who the hell cared?). He was adjusting the knot of his silvery blue tie when Jen and the three Coulson granddaughters tromped in.

“Wow, Uncle Phil,” said 10-year-old Julie, while Taylor whistled, “looking sharp.”

Pippa tugged on the sleeve of his pale blue dress shirt, almost dislodging his cufflink. “Very fancy,” she pronounced sadly.

“What's the matter, sweet pea?”

“Mommy said no crown.”

Phil pressed his lips together to hide his smile. Clearly, not being allowed to wear a plastic tiara with one's poofy princess dress was Serious Business. “Maybe she wants you to save it for the next big party.”

The little girl just pouted. Julie rolled her eyes at her sister. “Get over it, brat.” To the adults, she said, “Mom and Aunt Meg said they'd meet us at the dining room. Come on, let's go.”

“Not yet, girls,” Mr Coulson said gently. “Grandma wants us to go over together, so we're waiting for the boys to be ready.”

“Aw, do we have to?” Taylor whined. “Boys are lame.”

“Hey!” protested Phil.

That earned him his own preteen eye-roll. “You're not a boy, Uncle Phil, you're a grown-up.”

Lacking a better response, Phil stuck his tongue out at her. Carina and her husband Mike joined them in the sitting room in time to catch the exchange, which made Carina burst out laughing. “Oh, Phil, welcome to the geezer club!” Without missing a beat, she turned to her daughter and said sternly, “Taylor Coulson-Panagakos, you know that's not an acceptable word. Disabilities are not insults.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Taylor grumbled. She scrunched up her nose and asked, “Do I have to apologize to Uncle Phil too?”

“For calling him a grown-up? No, sweetie, he's just going to have to live with that.”

Phil was closer in age to his niece than his oldest sister, which he felt justified his sticking his tongue out at Carina. His dad smacked him lightly on the back of the head, and all was right with the world.

>>>>>>

When she'd made their reservation for the summer, Mrs Coulson had asked that her family be seated together for formal dinners. There was no way to get 19 people at one table, so they had to make do with two large, round tables adjacent to each other.

That, of course, led to a great deal of jockeying for position. Julie and Taylor didn't want to be stuck in charge of the kids' table, but were willing to be bribed with the promise that, on the nights the family didn't use the main dining room, they could do their own thing. At that point, 8-year-old Will declared that he wanted to be in charge, too, which led to cries of unfairness from 7-year-old George and Charlie, who didn't want to be lumped in with the babies. (Cue the 5-year-old chorus: “We are not babies!”) Pippa didn't even bother objecting. She dragged her chair over to the adults' table and squeezed in between her mother and Phil.

By the time they were all seated and nobody was fussing too loudly, the rest of the dining room was halfway through the first course and their servers were starting to look panicked. Mr Coulson assured them that this was entirely normal (true), they didn't mind being out-of-step with the schedule (also true), and it would be better in the future (total bald-faced lie).

Once the main course had been served, Mr Stark got up on the small stage and gave a meandering, over-rehearsed speech. Phil was deep in conversation with his brother-in-law Charles and didn't pay any attention until the staff introductions.

Phil had met most of the activities staff, at least in passing, earlier that day. They stood along the walls of the dining room, fidgety in their nice clothes, waving when Mr Stark called their names. The guest clapped politely, Stark beamed, and the staff just looked uncomfortable.

Nobody groaned out loud when Stark handed the microphone over to the children's activities director, but it was a close thing. Fortunately, she seemed to sense that. She gave a quick greeting then invited all the kids down the hall to the playrooms for dessert and a movie.

That announcement caused a small stampede. When things had settled again, the Santa Maria in the Pines jazz combo took the stage and the ballroom instructors opened the dancing.

Steve Rogers and his teaching partner, Peggy Carter, looked fantastic together. He was tall and blond and basically a Labrador puppy in the body of a Greek god. She was dark-haired and slender, calm and a little bit stern. In a conservatively-cut red dress and red lipstick, she looked like a model from the 1940s.

They were mesmerizing, gliding across the floor and making the complicated footwork look natural and easy. Phil was surprised and disappointed when Mr Stark caught the dancers' eyes with a scowl. They separated immediately in favor of coaxing guests onto the dance floor.

“Phillip, come dance with me,” his mother summoned.

“Yes, ma'am.” It had been Jen's idea to take dance lessons when they were young teens. She'd gotten bored with it fairly quickly, but Phil had been hooked.

“Are you happy?” Mrs Coulson asked out-of-the-blue as they moved across the floor in a stately foxtrot.

Phil cocked his head with a bemused smile. “Yes, of course.”

“Your father and I considered discouraging you and Jen from going to the same college.”

“Why would you do that? Jen and I have always done things together,” Phil asked with a frown.

“We wanted to make sure you had a chance to spread your wings. Your sisters cast a pretty big shadow and you've never been one to make waves.”

She was being uncharacteristically solemn, so Phil forced down his impulse to answer with another metaphor for her stew. Instead, he gave her words some thought. “I don't feel overshadowed. I've always gotten to do my own thing. Figure things out for myself.”

“You were so responsible, even as a little kid. Pop and I figured you'd come to us if you needed, if something major came up.”

Phil thought guiltily of all the facets of his life that he'd chosen not to share with his parents. And the stuff he'd been able to experiment with in high school because they trusted him not to get into trouble. But he wasn't about to suddenly start talking to his mom about pot or boys. “I'm good. Everything's good.”

She gave him the sharp look that never failed to make him squirm, but changed the subject. “How are Nick and Melinda?”

“They're great. They promised to come over when we're back home.”

“Did they finally patch things up?”

Phil made a face. “Ma, they hooked up once. They were never dating, there's nothing to patch up.”

“That's too bad. They make such a sweet couple.”

Only his mother would describe Melinda May and Nick Fury as “sweet,” either separately or together, Phil thought fondly. Nick and Mel were his closest friends and his and Jen's housemates at school in DC. The four of them hadn't planned on going to college together, but they had similar interests so it wasn't exactly surprising. “Please don't bring that up when you see them,” Phil begged. “That week was awkward and embarrassing and we're all trying to repress the memory of it.”

“Oh, like I could embarrass your friends. I've known them since you were all running around our backyard naked.”

“Are you trying to prove your point or mine?”

She huffed, then smiled slyly as the song came to an end. “Well kiddo, there's a very pretty girl over by our table who looks like she wants to dance with you. You're going to have to introduce me before I let you go.”

Phil peered over his mother's head to where Natasha stood waiting. “Yes, Ma,” he agreed with a theatrical sigh. This was going to be uncomfortable, though not at all for the reason his mother was gleefully anticipating.

They met Natasha at the edge of the dance floor. Mrs Coulson's smile went brittle mid-handshake when Phil mentioned that Natasha was the resort's rangemaster. After a beat of charged silence, Mrs Coulson said, “I don't like guns. I'm sorry dear, I'm sure you're very good at your job, but just the thought of guns around any of my family just makes me ill.”

Natasha glanced at Phil. He had plastered on his blandest smile but he widened his eyes a fraction. Without a flicker in her polite expression, she looked back at Mrs Coulson and said, “I understand, ma'am. Guns can be useful tools, but only with the right training. We do a very comprehensive safety course before any guest is allowed to work with our firearms.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Mrs Coulson responded, “though we still won't be participating.”

“To each her own,” Natasha said lightly. “If you don't mind, ma'am, I'd like to steal your son for a dance. I promise to bring him back unscathed.”

Mrs Coulson's genuine smile returned in full force, though she managed to restrain herself from shoving Phil in Natasha's direction. “Of course.”

When they were out of earshot, Natasha raised an expressive eyebrow. “Her older brother walked in on a burglary and ended up getting shot with his own gun,” Phil explained with a grimace.

“I'm so sorry.” Natasha was instantly contrite.

Phil shrugged uncomfortably. “It happened before I was born. Uncle Ray lived alone and apparently had gotten careless about safety measures. The shooter was just a scared kid with a heroin problem, didn't mean for the gun to go off. He actually called for an ambulance and then turned himself in.”

Natasha blinked, a tiny frown creasing her brow. Phil hadn't even gotten to the good part. “The kid plead guilty and Uncle Ray testified on his behalf at sentencing. Ma made sure he got into a treatment program in prison. She's been totally anti-gun in all circumstances ever since.”

Once again, Phil found himself being studied. Natasha smiled slightly when she decided he wasn't pulling her leg. “When did you decide to rebel?”

“I didn't,” Phil said with a shrug. “Growing up, my sister Jen and I spent part of each summer on our grandparents' farm. Hunting was a part of life there. Just not something we talked about when we went home.”

“Your father's parents?”

“Nope. Ma was raised on that farm. She was really good with a rifle when she was a kid. Granddad had the 4H trophies to prove it.”

Natasha pursed her lips. “Your family is a little bit nuts, isn't it?” That surprised a laugh out of Phil and she smiled in return. “Come, let's say hello to Clint.”

That was not at all what Phil wanted to do, but there was no way to refuse without being inexcusably rude. So he offered Natasha his arm and let her guide him to the other side of the room.

Clint was leaning with his elbows back on the service bar, surveying the room. His ridiculous biceps were covered by a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up and collar open behind a haphazardly-knotted black tie. He nodded to them as they approached.

“Clint, doesn't Phil look nice?” Natasha prompted. Phil frowned at her. Clint made a thoughtful noise and Phil frowned at him, too.

Very slowly, Clint looked Phil over from his toes to his head. Phil could feel the weight of his gaze like a caress, sliding over his skin and setting his nerves on fire. By the time it was over Phil was scowling fiercely in an effort not to blush like a damned schoolboy.

“You're all fancy,” Clint drawled. He grinned and his eyes danced, which made Phil realize it was the first time he'd seen the other man without sunglasses. Clint's eyes were an odd, compelling mix of blue and green and gray and were framed by long, thick lashes.

The whole situation was monstrously unfair. Phil felt like he was back in high school, being mocked by a gorgeous guy who'd never look at Phil twice even if they had compatible orientations. “Thanks,” Phil snapped before he lost his composure completely, “I ache for your validation.” Both Clint and Natasha looked surprised and a little hurt, but he ignored that. “I've got to get back to my family. See you around.”

On the edge of the dance floor he ran into Meg, his sister Maggie's friend, who stopped him. “Nope, you are way too storm-cloudy to deal with the family right now. Dance with me.”

“I am surrounded by pushy women,” Phil muttered, not without affection, as he complied.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” He sighed. “You ever feel like things that are supposed to be easy just...aren't. Like you're the only one who didn't get the memo?”

She smiled wryly. “All the damned time.”

He smiled back. Sometimes he felt more kinship with Meg than with his sisters. She'd been Maggie's best friend since grade school, long before Phil himself had been born. When Maggie was pregnant with Pippa and her marriage imploded, Meg moved in to take care of her and the kids full-time. Meg was accepted as a member of the family, but she still had an outsider's perspective. Phil found that refreshing.

He dutifully danced with his sisters (and his mother again), then offered to help get his nephews to bed.

As soon as they’d collected the boys from the kids' party, Mina turned to him, thanked him for the thought, and acknowledged that he was using them as an excuse to leave dinner. Which was fine with her, because she and Charles were going to get the boys settled as quickly as possible so they could enjoy having the rest of the bungalow to themselves for a while. Phil would just be in the way and give the boys an excuse to dawdle, so he should go do his own thing and have a good night.

This was accomplished without Phil or Charles getting a word in edgewise. Phil wished his sister and brother-in-law good night and set off to take a short walk in the crisp evening air.


	4. After Party

Phil was rounding the far corner of the main building when he caught sight of a familiar figure. “Jasper?” he called softly.

Jasper turned, startled. The movement upset the already-precarious balance of things he was carrying. Phil darted forward and grabbed the top object just as it surrendered to gravity. “Why are you trying to carry four watermelons at once?” he asked.

“Because I didn't want to make two trips. I was doing fine until you went all sneaky ninja and scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry.” Phil didn't agree that Jasper had been doing all that well, but he suppressed a smile and didn't argue. “Can I give you a hand?”

“Yeah, that'd be great. Come on, this way.” Jasper led him down a path into a part of the resort Phil hadn't been to before. There was an orange glow in a clearing near a group of small buildings.

“Is that a bonfire?” Phil asked.

“Yup. Staff tradition, first night of the summer session.”

Phil stopped walking. “I'm not going to crash your party.”

“What? No, man, it's fine. I told you, you can hang out with the staff. If you want.”

It had been less than an hour since Phil had decided to avoid Clint Barton. This was not the way to go about that. But Jasper was looking at him expectantly and hell, it was nice to be included.

They deposited the fruit on a folding table that was already covered in snacks. Phil left Jasper to his carving and looked around for a place to hang his jacket. He ended up draping it over the porch rail of one of the cabins that ringed the fire pit. When he turned back, he was rolling up his sleeves and not watching where he was going, so of course he almost ran face-first into Clint.

“What are you doing here?” the other man asked. His tone wasn't aggressive and he looked so adorably befuddled that Phil's brain shorted out.

“I carried a watermelon.” _Shit._ “I mean, I helped Jasper. With the watermelons.”

“Oh. Um, cool.” They stood there for a moment, then Clint looked down and seemed surprised to realize he was holding two bottles of beer. “Here,” he said, shoving one at Phil.

Phil accepted it. “Thanks,” he responded faintly to Clint's retreating back.

The fire pit was surrounded by a circle of logs hewn into low benches. Phil found a seat and tried to be unobtrusive. He was doomed to failure, of course, because everyone else in the gathering already knew each other. They were a loud, friendly bunch. Almost all of them were in college or grad school and only worked at the resort during the summer.

“Coulson?” asked a tall brunette named Maria who Phil vaguely recognized from the stables. “I swear every other kid I met today was a Coulson-something. They your cousins?”

“Nieces and nephews. My sisters are a lot older than I am. Well, three of the four of them are.”

“You and Jen are twins, right?” Jasper asked as he good-naturedly shoved his way into the circle.

“Irish twins,” Phil clarified. “She's ten months older than me.” There was general laughter at that – apparently the phenomenon was variously referred to as “Mexican twins” and “Polish twins” depending on one's ancestry.

As the conversation moved away from him, Phil covertly watched Clint and Natasha approach the bonfire. People shifted and a space cleared for them almost by magic. Natasha sat on the log and Clint settled at her feet. He was holding a battered guitar, which he began strumming quietly.

(Phil barely managed not to wince. Clearly, the universe was punishing him for something.)

The evening deepened and people continued to join the gathering. “I had no idea this place was so big,” Phil marveled.

“We are almost fully represented,” said the giant blond guy who was tending the fire. “The summer staff, that is. The year-round staff maintain homes in town and do not choose to socialize with us.”

“Excuse me?” Natasha cut in.

“Cry your pardon, Lady Natasha,” the guy teased. “You are as ever the exception.”

She gave a haughty sniff before ruining the effect by grinning back. “We're still missing the wait staff and Steve and Peggy. They'll be along once dinner is over.”

Phil hesitated before saying, “Steve and Peggy are really amazing together. Are they a couple?”

“Eh,” Jasper shrugged, “you'd think so. But if they are, they're really discreet. It's not outside the realm of possibility that Steve is saving himself for marriage and Peggy's just incredibly patient.”

There were scattered chuckles but Natasha frowned. “She is fiercely protective of him. That does not automatically mean there's anything romantic between them.”

Phil had to look away from where her fingers were carding through Clint's hair. No one seemed to know how to respond, or they were unwilling to argue with Natasha. In the lull, Clint's idle playing resolved into a melody that Phil recognized but couldn't place. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world when Clint started to sing softly.

_I don't know you_  
 _But I want you_  
 _All the more for that_

Clint's voice was husky-sweet with an appealingly rough edge. Phil felt it like velvet rubbed over his skin.

_Words fall through me_  
 _And always fool me_  
 _And I can't react_

Phil closed his eyes, partly to better focus and partly out of sheer self-preservation. The sight of Clint's clever fingers, heavy silver rings glinting in the firelight, plus that voice – it was just too much stimulation.

_And games that never amount_  
 _To more than they're meant_  
 _Will play themselves out_

A female voice joined Clint for the chorus. Phil opened his eyes to verify that it belonged to Natasha. She was a small woman, so the smoky alto was surprising. But her voice blended perfectly with Clint's.

_Take this sinking boat_  
 _And point it home_  
 _We've still got time_  
 _Raise your hopeful voice_  
 _You have a choice_  
 _You've made it now_

The hush held until the song was over, then conversation around the bonfire resumed as if nothing extraordinary had happened. Phil took several deep breaths and tried not to look like he was falling to pieces.

Jasper nudged him in the ribs. Phil was saved from having to answer by two things. First, his phone buzzed. Second, Tony Stark yelled from the path, “Relax, people, I'm here now, the party can begin!”

**Jen:** _Where the hell did you go?_

Phil gave Jasper a smile and an apologetic shrug as he left his seat and started walking back towards the guest area of the resort, texting as he went.

**Phil:** _Long story. Everything's fine, I'm on my way._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Clint sings is _Falling Slowly_ by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova.


	5. Good with Kids

The summer session at Santa Maria in the Pines was seven weeks long. Phil spent the first week or so casually exploring the activities and spending time with his family.

All of the older Coulson girls had settled down within an hour of the Chicago suburb where they'd been raised. The entire family didn't get together all that often, but they were used to seeing each other whenever the urge struck. While their parents had encouraged Jen and Phil to go to any colleges they wanted, having them out of state was a big change. The whole family was together for the first time since Christmas, six months before.

The only thing Phil did regularly on his own was shooting. He'd been nervous about attending Natasha's first safety course, but she'd nodded to him and any residual awkwardness had melted away. He easily qualified for her advanced class and range time, so that's where he spent the early afternoon every day.

Natasha was a no-nonsense instructor. She was coolly polite to everyone. Phil was quite proud of himself the first time he earned a tiny smile from her as she corrected his form and queued up more complicated target patterns.

He ventured out to the archery range a couple of times. There wasn't enough demand for Clint to have set classes; he worked with whoever showed up. Phil made sure to only go when there were other people around. He figured that keeping himself from being the sole focus of Clint's attention would help him not embarrass himself.

It mostly worked. Phil still frowned to keep from blushing whenever he actually spoke to Clint, but the other man seemed to accept that as just a slightly rude quirk.

They had a bad moment when Clint mentioned a diner in town that did an incredible meatloaf sandwich and asked casually if Phil wanted to check it out. “Not interested,” Phil had snapped. He'd clenched his teeth to keep the rest of that statement – _in your pity invite_ – to himself. He refused to look any more pathetic than absolutely necessary.

Clint didn't try to chat any more after that. Phil did his best to keep his mind on his shooting. Once he got used to the mechanics of the bow, he was pretty good at it. He'd never be in Clint's league – Clint taught competition-perfect form but got bored easily and would start making ridiculous trick shots without even looking at the target – but he had the feeling few were.

Eventually, Phil gave into his curiosity and googled both instructors. Clint was easy to find. The homepage for the US national archery team had a link to every Olympic athlete in the past half-century. Clinton Barton, then 17 and from Waverly, Iowa, had indeed participated in the 2008 Olympics in Beijing. He'd won a silver medal in the team competition and had qualified for the finals in several individual events. However, he'd withdrawn from those. No reason was given.

The matching page for the US rifle team had nothing for Natasha Romanoff. His initial search had only turned up hits related to Santa Maria in the Pines, what looked like Natasha's translation work, and her personal Facebook page (which Phil didn't look at because he already felt enough like a stalker).

It took far too long for it to occur to him that maybe Natasha hadn't been competing for the US at the time. He found a badly-translated page that listed someone named Natalia Alianovna Romanova as a member of the 2008 Russian rifle team, but he couldn't figure out where to look for events or results.

Late in the second week, Phil was finishing lunch when Maggie asked him to take Pippa down to the supervised kids' area. He agreed with a guilty thought about being late to Natasha's class. But he couldn't decline his sister's request without explaining himself and he was not about to do that with his mother sitting right there. Besides, he'd much rather face Natasha's displeasure than Pippa's.

There were only four people present when Phil pushed open the door to the playroom – two toddlers asleep on mats, another one sitting in a beanbag chair looking at a book, and Clint Barton.

Phil stopped, shocked. Pippa was not only unfazed but delighted. She shrieked and ran towards the archer.

“Gotta hush, Princess Pipsqueak, babies are sleeping,” Clint said as he scooped up the little girl and set her on his hip.

“Okay,” she agreed in a stage-whisper. She gestured imperiously for Phil to approach, then patted Clint's chest. “This Clint. That Unca Phil. Unca Phil is the best.”

“Really?” Clint grinned at Phil. “Uncle Phil? I should have guessed. She looks just like you.”

Phil frowned. Except for their eyes, all of Maggie's kids looked like their long-absent father, with silky black hair and dark honey-brown skin. Phil himself was far on the pasty end of the spectrum.

“She does,” Clint insisted. “Not just the eyes. You've got the same jawline. And the same frown.”

Phil and Pippa (both frowning now) looked at each other, then back at Clint. “You work here, too?” Phil asked. Clearly, Clint and Pippa were old friends.

“I help out sometimes.” Clint nodded to the French doors that gave onto the terrace and lawn. “Carol and Rhodey are doing Paper Airplanes and Gliders Day, so I offered to keep any eye on naptime.”

The group of bigger kids out on the lawn was being shepherded back towards the building by two of the regular kids' center staff members. Just as they reached the terrace, a skirmish broke out. Phil groaned internally as he watched – at the center of the commotion were three very familiar little boys.

Phil had three five-year-old nephews, one belonging to each of his oldest sisters. They were inseparable and troublemakers of the highest order. PJ seemed to be arguing with a smaller boy, then Jack stepped in and snatched something out of the boy's hands. The boy started to wail, prompting the slightly older girl standing with him to step forward and punch Jack in the face.

Jack sat down hard. He clutched his nose and looked up at the girl with an expression close to awe. He didn't start crying until he noticed Phil standing there. “Please don't tell Gramma!” he begged.

“What exactly is going on here?” demanded Carol. She had the little girl by the back of the shirt. “Jemma?”

“PJ said it wasn't fair that Leo got the best glider. Jack grabbed it and made Leo cry!” the girl responded fiercely.

“Is this true, boys?”

Jack had thrown himself into Phil's arms and wouldn't look up. PJ and Johnny (who had stayed out of it but was familiar with the concept of guilt by association) nodded. Carol sighed. “I know you were just trying to protect your brother, Jemma, but you know that hitting's not allowed. You and Jack are both going to have a time-out and you're gonna miss Rhodey's story about the big silver jet. Let's go inside now.” To Phil, she added, “Is he okay?”

Phil nodded and promised to send Jack inside in a minute. He dried his nephew's tears and assured him that his nose was still on straight. “You deserved that, you know,” he said gently. “Big sisters don't like it when bullies mess with their little brothers.”

“But I'm not a bully!”

“What do you call it when a bigger kid picks on a smaller kid and makes them cry?”

Jack's eyes welled up again. “Don' wanna be a bully, Unca Phil. I'm sorry!”

“I'm glad to hear that. But I'm not the one you need to say sorry to.”

“I'll go tell Leo,” the little boy sighed. Then he brightened and added, “And Jemma, too! Then she'll have to talk to me.” He bounded up the steps and into the building.

Phil followed at a more sedate pace. Clint was watching from the terrace, still holding Pippa. She was fast asleep with her head on his shoulder and one hand fisted in his shirt. He was rocking her, shifting his weight from side to side, and rubbing her back.

For a moment, Phil was irrationally jealous of his niece.

“You're really good at that,” Clint observed.

Phil shrugged. “Comes with the territory. Though I'm gonna have to tell his parents that it looks like he's in love. So not my area.” They both chuckled, then Phil said, “You're pretty good yourself. Pippa usually takes a while to warm up to people.”

Clint ducked his head, blushing. “She's a firecracker for sure. Hey, are you going out to the range?”

“Damn it.” Phil glanced at his watch. “Natasha's going to kill me, isn't she?”

“Nah, I'll vouch for you. Let me get this one settled and I'll walk with you. If that's okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Phil agreed. When they headed towards the gun range, Phil shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders. They didn't talk, but for once the silence was fairly comfortable instead of awkward.


	6. Legal Advice

Natasha was not waiting impatiently to start her afternoon class. She wasn't even there. Clint helpfully pointed out that she had an office; he led Phil down a short hallway, tapped on a door, and pushed it open.

“Whoa, Nat, what's wrong?” Clint asked. Phil narrowly resisted the urge to hide behind him. Natasha was looking at her phone as if she were contemplating the best way to annihilate it and all its descendants.

“Yasha was picked up for drunk and disorderly again, resisted, and got put on a mandatory psych hold. There will be a hearing two weeks from today.”

“That can't be right,” Phil blurted out before he could think better of it. “Psych holds are only supposed to be 72 hours.”

Natasha blinked at him. He thought she might not have noticed his presence before he’d spoken. “That is true only when they determine that you are not a threat to yourself or others,” she said tightly. “That is not necessarily the case here.”

“But you can get all this straightened out at the hearing, right?” Clint asked with a frown.

“I am emergency medical contact on every document there is, but I am not next-of-kin.” Natasha's accent, which Phil could’ve sworn she didn’t have, had made itself known and was getting thicker with every word. “Even phone call today was 'just a courtesy.'”

At that point, she switched to rapid Russian. Clint responded in the same language. Phil looked at him in surprise. It was only then that Phil realized he was intruding on a personal matter that was absolutely none of his business. He took a step towards the door but Natasha's voice stopped him. “Phil, I am so sorry. Is it all right if we don't meet this afternoon?”

“Of course, you've got stuff to take care of, it's no problem at all. I'll see you guys later.” Phil glanced over his shoulder as he closed the office door. Clint had pulled Natasha into his arms and was murmuring to her. Phil resolutely pushed down the twisting pain in his chest.

He walked straight back to his family's bungalow. His father was sitting in the living room working on a crossword puzzle. The History Channel droned softly in the background. “Hi, Pop,” Phil greeted. “Aliens or conspiracy theories?”

“It could be conspiracy theories about aliens for all the attention I'm paying. Is it terrible that this crap makes me nostalgic for All Hitler, All The Time?” Mr Coulson narrowed his eyes at his son. “What's on your mind, kiddo?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Practical or hypothetical?”

“Um, neither? Both?” Phil paused to gather his thoughts. “It's a very vague legal question based on the circumstances of a third party.”

Mr Coulson gave him a look that was both impressed and faintly amused. (This was often his reaction to his children.) “Go ahead.”

“What happens if someone has people they're close to, but no legal next-of-kin?”

“There are a lot of ways to establish next-of-kin status. Power of attorney, medical proxies, things like that.”

“Right. But if they don't have that?” Phil made an impatient face. “I mean, if somebody’s in a situation where they need an advocate, but the information or whatever is restricted because of confidentiality. And that person has someone who's willing and able to step in, but who doesn't have legal standing.”

Mr Coulson frowned. “Okay, hold up, let me see if I'm following you. There's a person with no family, no legal ties at all. And there’s something going on that involves confidential information.”

“Right,” Phil said, then added sheepishly, “I think.”

“Why can’t the person share their own information?”

“Um, maybe they’re already in custody. Like in a hospital. And the doctors won’t talk to someone who isn’t their next-of-kin, but they don’t have anybody. At least, not who the law recognizes.”

“Okay, there are definitely arguments to be made for longstanding, mutual connections between adults, even in the absence of a legal bond. Go grab my laptop, will you, Phil?”

Mr Coulson kept talking as he typed. “Do you know the exact relationship between the two people we're talking about?” When Phil hesitated, he clarified, “You don't have to tell me what it is. But I could give you some specifics and you could choose what best applies when you take this all back to your friend.”

“I honestly don't know,” Phil admitted. “And guessing probably wouldn't help, would it?”

“It usually doesn’t. But don't worry, we can work in generalities. Damn it, your mother changed our WestLaw password again.”

Phil smiled and sat back to watch his father work. Half an hour later he had a flash drive with notes and case law. “Standard disclaimer,” Mr Coulson prompted before handing it over.

“I know, I know, free advice, not meant to take the place of actually retaining counsel, we're not responsible for its use or outcome in a court of law.”

“Good boy.” Mr Coulson looked thoughtful. “This is why marriage equality is so important.”

“Sorry Pop, you lost me.”

“As a society, we've devised a very easy, completely streamlined way to designate the person of your choice as your next-of-kin. We just happen to call it marriage. You can get a lot of those benefits through other means, sure. But not all of them, and the expense and effort is just –” He sighed. “From a civil law perspective, it's just wrong.”

This was it. This was his opening. It would be so easy for Phil to say, _guess what, this is important for me personally because if I ever get married it'll be to a guy, and I figured that out in the eighth grade, sorry I never mentioned it before._

But no. Because Phil was sometimes a chickenshit, and at that moment, he didn't care. “Preaching to the choir, Pop,” he said lightly as he pocketed the flash drive. “Thanks for this.”

“You're welcome. I hope it helps. I won't mention this to your mother. She'll just badger you for details you’re not comfortable sharing.”

After dinner that night, Phil walked back to the staff area. He kept his head up and his stride purposeful, doing his best to look like he belonged there.

He was lucky – Natasha and Clint were sitting on the porch steps of the cabin they shared, talking with Jasper and Maria.

“I'm sorry for intruding,” he said as he approached.

“You're not. It's fine,” Natasha responded, though all four of them looked at him curiously. He'd spent time with all of them in the past weeks but he'd never initiated and he'd certainly never invaded their space.

“I talked to my dad. He's a lawyer. Well, both my parents are, but I only talked to my dad.” Phil closed his eyes, cursed himself, took a deep breath, and tried again. “I didn't use any names and obviously I don't know more than the bare bones of the situation. I asked about the rights of a potential advocate without legal standing, and he put some information together for me. For you.”

Nobody moved when Phil held out the flash drive. With a nervous chuckle, Phil rambled, “It's too bad you can't just get married. Takes care of all of this and nobody questions it.”

“What the hell, Coulson?” Clint barked. Phil flinched; he'd been braced for a negative response but not from him. “You stick your nose into things that aren't any of your fucking business and then you go running to your daddy?”

Natasha placed her hand on Clint's arm and he subsided with a grumble. With the other she took the flash drive. “Thank you, Phil. This is very kind of you.”

They all lapsed back into uncomfortable silence. “I'm still missing something, aren't I?” Phil asked.

“I told you about the Summer Tournament, did I not?” Natasha responded.

She had. The area resorts held a competition every year for their shooting staff and area sports enthusiasts. It was mostly ego-stroking for the owners but there were prizes and sometimes scouts. “Shit,” Phil breathed. “Is that the same day as your hearing?” Natasha nodded.

“We're the only ones who could take Natasha's place and not totally embarrass ourselves,” Maria said, gesturing between herself and Jasper, “and neither of us can take that afternoon off. We've already asked.”

“And there isn't anybody else?”

“No, there isn't,” Clint snapped. “Everybody works around here, college boy. Even if someone could get the time off, they'd have to spend every waking moment from now until then training just to make it past the first round. Who can put in that kind of time? You?”

“It's not a bad idea,” Jasper said slowly.

Clint sputtered in dismay before he was able to form words. “Yes it is! It's a terrible idea. Jesus, since when do you people not recognize sarcasm?”

“You said he has the most natural talent of anyone you've seen in years,” Natasha pointed out.

“Seriously?” Clint and Phil exclaimed simultaneously – Phil to Clint and Clint to Natasha. They met each other's eyes and looked away.

“He's at Maria and Jasper's level with a rifle and he has the time to work with you on the bow.” Natasha turned to Phil. “Don't you?”

“Yeah, but...I didn't mean...I'm not...” Phil looked around the group. Natasha was calm, Clint was fuming, Jasper and Maria were watching like it was a particularly fascinating tennis match. Phil knew he'd made his decision. He’d probably made it when he went to his father for advice. “If I can help, I'll do whatever you need.”

“This is bullshit,” Clint practically snarled. He stomped up the stairs and slammed the cabin's door behind him.

Natasha reached out and squeezed Phil's hand. “I really appreciate this. So will Clint, once he's removed his head from his ass. Meet us at the gym in the morning. Seven o'clock.”


	7. Training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the feedback over the past couple of days. This fandom is awesome.
> 
> After today, halfway there!

The resort's gym facilities were huge, state-of-the-art, and surprisingly busy at the crack of dawn. When every eye in the place turned to him with varying degrees of curiosity and suspicion, Phil realized he was the only non-staff member there.

“Phillip!” boomed Thor from across the room. “Come join us!”

The tension in the room dissipated in an instant. Phil jogged over to where the big, blond trainer was already working with Clint. After meeting him at the bonfire the first night, Phil had gone to Thor for the initial fitness assessment that the gym offered. It made sense that he'd been drafted to help get Phil into competition shape.

Thor walked Phil though his personalized plan, which was basically just a scaled-down version of Clint's regular workout. Phil was intensely glad that Thor stuck with him for the entire 90-minute circuit. Staying one machine away from Clint while not looking at the sweaty skin and flexing muscles on display was pretty much Phil's own personal hell.

Clint steadfastly refused to speak to Phil until they were finished, at which point he said that he'd meet Phil on the archery range when Natasha was done with him that afternoon. He nodded to Thor and disappeared into the locker room.

Phil thanked the trainer, accepted a hard copy of his training plan and a slap on the back that almost knocked him over, and jogged back to his cabin.

It was still before nine a.m. Nobody else was stirring. Phil got in the shower and scrubbed down, trying to ignore the heat low in his belly and fizzing under his skin. It didn't work.

“This is such a bad idea,” he grumbled as he braced one hand on the cool tiles and wrapped the other around his dick. Immediately his traitorous imagination put him in the locker room showers. Strong arms slid around him from behind and pulled him against a compact, muscular body. Big, callused hands teased his nipples before moving down to cup his balls and stroke his hard cock.

Phil's rhythm was fast, almost punishing. He imagined a mouth on his neck, a husky voice in his ear. _Been thinking about this for weeks. Want you so bad. Gonna ruin you, make you scream my name, over and over and over…_

His orgasm crashed through him, hard and sharp and unexpected. “Shit!” Phil gasped. He leaned heavily on the wall, trying to catch his breath and get some strength back in his legs.

His brother-in-law was waiting when Phil emerged from the bathroom several minutes later. “I miss being eighteen,” Mike said with a smirk. Phil didn't dignify that with a response.

Natasha had set up his new training schedule to mimic his previous routine. Phil was grateful for that – he still spent mornings with his family and afternoons on his own, with enough time to get cleaned up before dinner. It was so neatly done that he didn't even need Jen to run interference for him. (He still told her what was going on, of course. She was confused but impressed.)

The only real problem was Clint. The charming, laid-back archer Phil had been nursing a crush on was no longer in evidence. Clint was taciturn to the point of rudeness. He spoke only enough to give terse orders and corrections. Nothing Phil did was good enough.

It was bearable in the gym in the mornings when there were other people around. On the archery range in the afternoons, it was just the two of them for hours on end. Phil started getting angry at Clint in return. That, unfortunately, made him careless.

Phil was doing the most basic exercise – holding his borrowed bow at full draw. He was determined to beat his best time and ignored Clint's instructions.

“Seriously, man, ease off.”

“I'm fine.”

“I don't care. Ease off now.”

Phil could feel fine tremors starting in his arms and shoulders from the strain. It just pissed him off further. “I can do it. Get off my ass.”

“Oh, fuck you. Swear to god, if you dry fire that bow –” Clint didn't get a chance to finish his threat. Phil's fingers slipped. There was a loud twang as he released the string, followed by a deep cracking sound that Phil felt in his bones. The two young men stood frozen, looking at the shattered remains of Phil's bow.

“If you don't trust me, if you don't listen to me, someone's going to get hurt. Not to mention destroying my goddamned equipment!” Clint roared.

“Okay, that's it,” Phil snapped. “I am trying to do you a fucking favor and you can't even bring yourself to speak to me except to tell me how much I suck.” He threw down the grip that, absurdly, was the only part of the bow left in his hand. The motion made his wrist twinge; he looked down to see blood dripping. “Whoa.”

“Hell, now wha – oh, shit.” Clint grabbed him by the shoulders and guided him to sit in the shade of the equipment shed. “I've got a first aid kit. Don't faint, okay?”

“Not gonna faint,” protested Phil (though admittedly his voice sounded kind of distant even to him). A sliver of metal had lodged under the skin of his left wrist. Judging by how quickly a bruise was forming, the sliver was sharp enough to have nicked a blood vessel.

Clint sank down next to him on the ground. He took Phil's arm in surprisingly gentle hands. “It's because the energy has no place to go,” he said conversationally.

Either Phil was more out of it than he thought, or that was a total non sequitur. “What?”

“When you dry fire. All that energy that's supposed to propel an arrow has no place to go. Some bows can't even handle it once. The ones we have here are pretty sturdy, but they're also pretty old. Here you go.”

Phil accepted the wicked-looking metal shard that Clint had pulled out while he was talking. “I'm sorry I didn't listen,” Phil said to Clint's downbent head. “And that I wrecked the bow.”

Clint didn't respond until he was done disinfecting and bandaging Phil's wound, which wasn't much worse than a pinprick despite the nasty bruise. “No more shooting for you this afternoon. And maybe long sleeves for a while.”

“I'll keep pressure on it. And swing by the kitchen for some ice on the way back.” Phil moved as if to stand, only to be stopped by Clint's hand on his arm.

“I have a cold pack. You could stay here for a while.” Clint looked up at Phil from under his eyelashes.

“Yeah, okay.” Phil relaxed back against the wall of the shed. He was worn out and Clint was being nice.

Clint brought over the cold pack, a bottle of water, and some painkillers. Then he gathered up all the equipment and set to methodically cleaning and checking it. Eventually, he said, “I'm sorry I've been an asshole. You're right, you don't deserve that.” He grimaced. “I'm not very good at accepting help.”

“I thought I was helping Natasha.” Phil kept his voice deliberately light.

“Yeah, she let you think that because it was easier for me. Like I said – asshole.”

“But she's the one who has to miss the tournament?”

“Nat's senior staff here, she doesn't have to be hired back every summer. And even if she did, she makes more doing freelance translation work anyway. Not that she'd get fired. Stark adores her.”

Phil wrinkled his nose. “Mr Stark kind of creeps me out, though I'm not sure why. Honestly, it might be because my mom can't stand him.”

“Hey, no arguments here. He doesn't really like me either. If Natasha didn't insist that we're a package deal, I probably wouldn't have a job at all.”

“Where does the tournament come into this?”

Clint sighed. “Archery's never been the draw Stark wanted it to be. The tournament's about the only interest I get. The owners of all the resorts in the area get drunk and brag about their staffing decisions. Sometimes there are scouts, too, which is the other reason I can't miss it. This job isn't exactly stable or well-paying, and it's not like I have a lot of marketable skills.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while. Phil watched Clint's talented hands and debated with himself about the questions he wanted to ask. He was really curious, but he didn't want to break the fragile truce they had going. “How did you get into archery in the first place?”

Clint ducked his head. It might have been a trick of the light, but it really looked like he was blushing. “Um...my brother and I ran away to the circus.”

“You cannot be serious,” Phil protested, gobsmacked. “I didn't think that was something that people really did.”

“Oh, it happens,” Clint said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

As the afternoon moved towards evening, Clint told Phil about his childhood. About the car crash that killed his parents, then a foster system full of well-meaning people with too many kids and too few resources. The circus had seemed like an escape; it would be years before Clint was old enough to recognize it for the quasi-legal indentured servitude it was.

By fifteen he was a headliner, billed as “The Amazing Hawkeye” and “The World's Greatest Marksman.” He caught the eye of one of the trainers for the US national archery team (who was there only because her daughter loved elephants) and the rest was history.

“I didn't know there were any little traveling circuses left,” Phil confessed. “Just, like, Ringling Brothers and Cirque du Soleil.”

“You grew up in Chicago, right? So you got the big ones. We played the places that didn't.”

Phil grimaced. “Wow, that's a classist assumption I just walked right into, isn't it?”

That actually made Clint laugh out loud. “It's okay, it's not on most people's radar. I promise not to hold it against you. How's the wrist?”

“Not bad. A little sore,” Phil responded, flexing it before lifting up the cold pack (his third of the afternoon). “Shit.”

The vivid, black and purple bruise extended halfway up to Phil's elbow. Icing it had kept it from swelling, but it looked terrible. Phil sighed. “I suppose I could just tell the truth. I was an idiot, misused some equipment, and got what I deserved.”

Clint gave Phil a look that was so soft and fond that it turned Phil's brain to mush. He got gracefully to his feet and held a hand out to Phil. “Come on, Cinderella. Time to get back.”

Phil stuck out his tongue but accepted the hand. “'Scuse me, I am nothing like Cinderella. And you are not my prince, Clint Barton.”

“Don't I know it,” Clint murmured as they headed down the path around the lake.

Upon further reflection, Phil didn't bother trying to hide his bruise. His mom freaked out, but calmed down fairly quickly when she realized Phil was treating it like no big deal. Jen raised a curious eyebrow, but the only other family member to actually comment was Pippa.

“Should go see Miss Jane in the firmanary,” she said. “She gots Cap'n Merica bandaids. Your bandaid is boring.”

Natasha corned him that evening after dinner. She was more implacable than anyone when it came to inspecting his arm. He couldn't resist teasing her about it.

She just scoffed at him. “Clint said you and he kissed and made up.”

“There was no kissing involved,” Phil protested, blushing hard.

“It's just a figure of speech,” Natasha said with a grin. “Truly, Phil, we deeply appreciate what you're doing. For both of us.”

Phil swallowed the urge to brush off her thanks. “You're welcome. It's nice to be able to help.”

“When so often we can't,” she agreed. She reached up and kissed his cheek. “You're a good man, Phil Coulson.”

He was saved – after a fashion – from trying to respond by his sister calling to him. “Hey Phil, if you're done kissing girls, you promised me a game of one-on-one!”

He ducked his head, nodded to Natasha, and trotted over to Jen, Even his good-natured shove didn't stop her laughing at him.

Jen waited until Phil was lining up a free throw before saying, “I think I'm going to sleep with Tony Stark.”

The basketball bounced off the rim and rolled away. Phil made a disgusted face. “Really? Why?”

She shrugged. “He's hot. And he keeps offering. Besides, anyone that cocky is either great in bed – in which case, go me – or terrible and I won't do it again.”

Phil retrieved their ball from where it had rolled under a nearby picnic table, giving himself time to think. “I don't know, Jen. Wouldn't you rather go to bed with someone you actually like?”

“Oh, you're just so sweet,” she cooed.

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

She laughed. “The thing is, I do like him. At least, I don't dislike him.”

“He's such a jackass.”

“Ever consider that may just be a front? He could be anywhere in the world, but he's here, at his family's resort, waiting tables of all things. You don't find that interesting?”

“Not really.” Phil shrugged. “Are you gonna put a sock on the door or something, so I know to sleep on the couch?”

“What, in the same cabin as Mike and Carina?” Jen shuddered. “I'm sure we can figure something else out.”

“Just be safe, okay?”

“I promise, little brother.” With a grin, she yanked the ball out of his hands and scored.

The remaining days until the tournament passed quickly. Training was infinitely easier with Clint fully on board. Though his initial goal had been just not to be terrible, Phil's confidence in his archery improved to the point where he thought they might actually have a shot at placing.

“I'll even let you keep the trophy,” Clint teased. “Impress those spook friends of yours.”

Phil scowled. “I don't know why I told you about that,” he muttered. His club team down in DC was sponsored by the FBI, which he'd mentioned in passing once. Clint found that inexplicably hilarious.

Unfortunately, Clint being friendly made everything else in Phil's life harder. His infatuation deepened with every teasing smirk, every warm hand on his shoulder, every cheer when he landed a shot he hadn't before. It got to the point where he was jerking off in the shower twice a day. (He couldn't look his brother-in-law in the eye anymore.)

Phil kept telling himself that he just had to make it through the day of the tournament. Then he could avoid Clint for the rest of the summer. And possibly Natasha as well. He felt guilty considering that; she'd been nothing but kind to him. But that didn't even begin to compare with the guilt he was carrying around because he couldn't stop fantasizing about her partner. Something had to give.


	8. Tournament

The tournament fell on almost the exact midpoint of the Santa Maria in the Pines summer session. The day was overcast and muggy. Phil spent the morning going through the motions and pretending he wasn't queasy. On the upside, he didn't have to go through with his plan of lying to his parents about not feeling well – his mother actually sent him away from the lunch table with instructions to lie down.

He ducked around the opposite side of the main building right as Clint pulled up in a pickup truck that looked like it was held together with baling wire and prayer. “Nice ride,” Phil said as he climbed into the cab.

“Thanks,” Clint replied, either missing the sarcasm or ignoring it. “Here, you're gonna need this.” He handed Phil a Santa Maria staff t-shirt.

For one giddy moment, Phil thought he was going to be spending the afternoon wearing Clint's clothes. Then he reminded himself not to be stupid; there was probably a huge stash of staff shirts somewhere and besides, the shirt in his hands had sleeves. He moved his seatbelt aside and quickly changed.

He met Clint's eyes in the rearview mirror and tried to smile. Judging by Clint's reaction, it looked even less convincing than it felt. “Phil, dude, you gotta relax,” Clint said with a laugh. “You'll be fine. Just showing up is half the battle – you've got nothing riding on this.”

_But you do_ , Phil thought. He nodded and focused on his breathing for the 15-minute drive to the neighboring resort where the tournament was being held.

There were so many flags and pennants on the archery range that it looked like a cross between a Robin Hood movie and a kid's birthday party. Phil stood and stared as Clint unloaded the back of the truck. “Yeah, I know, it's kind of disgusting,” Clint agreed. “Snap out of it and give me a hand.”

“Why Natasha, what have you been doing to yourself?” Both men turned to see a slender, dark-haired girl sauntering over. “This is a new look for you.”

Phil frowned. The girl jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the giant scoreboard at the edge of the field. Sure enough, the Santa Maria team was still listed as “Barton/Romanoff.”

“Leave him alone, Katie-Kate. Nat has grown-up things to deal with,” Clint said mildly. “Phil here was generous enough to step in. Kate Bishop, Phil Coulson.”

“Do you want me to have them change the board?” Kate asked as she shook Phil's hand.

“That's not necessary, but thank you.”

“Okay. But we'll make sure they spell your name right on the second-place trophy.”

Her sly comment surprised a laugh out of Phil, but Clint just rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you're adorable. Phil, try not to feel too bad wiping the floor with a little kid.”

“Excuse you,” Kate said with a huff, drawing herself up to her full height, “I am seventeen, thank you very much.”

Phil bit his lip to contain another laugh as she stalked away. She sounded just like his nieces, even Pippa. Maybe especially Pippa.

“And that would be why I'll never live up to Stark's expectations,” Clint said wrily. “Her daddy owns this place. He'll never let Stark forget that he fathered greatness, while Stark only managed to hire a washed-up ex-Olympian.”

“Is she really as good as you?”

“Oh, she's better than me.” There was no envy or bitterness in Clint's matter-of-fact tone. If anything, there was pride and admiration. “But she really is still a kid and she's not all that consistent. Plus, Bishop's never going to find someone in Natasha's league to be her partner.”

A voice over the loudspeaker called the contestants to the field before Phil could ask any more questions. He did his best to put everything but the competition out of his head.

He held his own in the archery qualifiers – as well as anyone who wasn't Clint or Kate. The rifle qualifying course was laughably easy. He could practically hear Natasha's derisive commentary in his head.

The problem came in the archery final round. The remaining competitors were paired and Phil ended up facing off against Kate Bishop. Clint was annoyed (which he expressed very loudly) and even Kate looked kind of apologetic. Phil let himself get flustered, which spiraled with every shot. He didn't do terribly, but much worse than he knew he was capable of. In the end, it was mathematically impossible for Clint to make up the difference in points even if he shot a perfect round (which he did).

“I'm sorry,” Phil said as they waited for the official announcement of the results.

“Don't be. You did great,” Clint assured him. “There's no shame in losing to the best. Besides, when you started training, did you really think we'd get this far?”

“I suppose not. But you and Natasha would have won.”

Clint shook his head. “Way to miss the point. Yeah, Nat and I won the past couple of years. But if you weren't here, I'd have to forfeit and Stark would have my head and possibly my job.” Suddenly, he focused on a spot beyond Phil's shoulder and let out a nervous chuckle. “Hello, sir.”

“Good show, kids,” Mr Stark boomed. He stepped between them and clapped a hand on each of their backs. “Did us proud.” Phil chanced a look to the side; Mr Stark's eyes were glassy and he was engulfed in a cloud of scotch fumes. “Go on, go get your trophy,” he urged them.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Clint answered meekly as they slipped away.

“I'm not sure he recognized me,” Phil grumbled once they were out of earshot. He couldn’t decide if he was relieved or insulted.

“I'm not sure he noticed you're not Natasha,” Clint responded with a smile. “Didn't I warn you that the owners use this as an excuse to get drunk and brag about shit?”

“Wasn't sure you meant that literally,” Phil admitted. “So now what? We just go home?”

“Don't forget about our trophy. Can’t leave without that. And –” Clint looked sheepish. “We technically owe the first-place team dinner.”

Phil rolled his eyes but didn't protest. After the short awards ceremony, they drove down to a diner in the little town closest to Santa Maria. (“Meatloaf,” Clint reminded Phil, “try the meatloaf.”)

Most of the conversation was carried by Kate and her teammate, a gorgeous Latina about the same age whom Clint kept calling “Miss America.” (It took Phil an embarrassingly long time to figure out that wasn't just an inside joke and her first name really was America.) The girls grilled Phil like seasoned interrogators. He finally pulled out his phone to show them pictures of his nieces and nephews. Clint rested his forehead on the table and muttered something about being surrounded by crazy people.

Kate kept shooting Clint concerned looks. Phil agreed that he seemed out-of-sorts, quiet and somewhat withdrawn. Neither Phil not Kate were willing to address it directly, but Kate repeatedly tried to coax (or antagonize) Clint into the conversation. She had no luck.

“So Phil, where did you learn archery?” America asked.

“From Clint, actually.”

“Figures,” Kate snorted. “No wonder your form is crap.”

“Kate!” admonished her teammate. Clint raised his head and fixed her with a glare.

Kate immediately raised her hands and backpedaled. “Wait, wait, I was kidding. Phil knows I'm kidding, right Phil? You're pretty good.”

“Damn straight he's good,” Clint growled. “Especially since he'd never even picked up a bow before a month ago. Did you catch on that quick, little girl?”

“Jeez, I didn't know I was stepping on your ego. You're not usually this touchy.”

“You've just gotta think before you speak.”

“Come on, like you're one to talk –”

“Okay, wow,” Phil interrupted, “as flattering as this is, I've really got to be getting back.”

Without a word, Clint slid out of the booth and moved towards the cash register. Phil followed. “Here, I've got cash,” he offered.

“I've got it.”

“If it's tradition, I should –” Phil put his hand on Clint's shoulder to stop him.

Clint shook him off. “I said I've got it,” he repeated through clenched teeth. Phil took a big step back, met the eyes of the girls back at the table, and nodded towards the door.

When Clint joined them outside, Kate immediately grabbed him by the elbow and steered him to the other side of the parking lot. They proceeded to have a discussion that consisted mainly of Kate gesticulating and Clint hunching into his shoulders.

Phil turned to America. “Are they always like this?”

“As far as I can tell, yes,” she confirmed. “They push each other really hard, but they support each other too. Sometimes it seems like they have their own genius archer language.” She shrugged philosophically. “I just try to stay out of the way.”

“Probably a good idea,” Phil agreed.

Finally, Kate seemed to wind down. Clint pulled her into a tight hug, then they rejoined their friends. Clint hugged America, too, and said, “You looked great today, darlin'. Maybe next time I see you, you won't be dropping your elbow so much.”

“Yes, boss.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek.

“And keep an eye on that one for me, yeah?” He nodded at Kate.

“Always.” The girls said goodbye to Phil and piled into Kate's violently purple VW bug.

Once they were on the winding road up to the resort, Phil turned to Clint. “Please be honest with me. Are you upset because we lost? Because I totally understand if – ”

“Oh, for fuck's sake!” Clint burst out. “I am not mad at you, though I'm damned well gonna be if you don't knock off the apologizing!”

Phil bit his lip and stayed quiet, waiting. Clint sighed and scrubbed his free hand down his face. “Look, I shouldn't have yelled. But really, it's got nothing to do with you.”

“Then what is it? Will you tell me?”

“You know the college recruiters, the ones who were at the tournament today?”

“Yeah.” It had been hard to miss the way the other competitors had been buzzing about them. And at dinner, Kate and America had been full of excited speculation – which universities were represented, who had the best teams, who offered the best scholarship packages.

“Well, they were the only scouts there so today a washout for me, regardless of how we placed. College recruiters are there for kids like Kate, not guys like me.”

“Lots of people defer college for a several years,” Phil pointed out. “Some places even cater specifically to non-traditional students.”

“Non-traditional students?” Clint scoffed. “Dude, I didn't even go to junior high. The only reason I got my GED was because the national team insisted on it. People like me don't go to college.” His tone was scornful but it was easy to hear the self-loathing beneath it.

Phil considered and rejected a whole bunch of responses. He didn't want to leave Clint's statement unchallenged, which Clint might take as agreement. (Phil really, really didn't agree.) But he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't sound either flippant or creepy.

“Hey, I meant it, about this,” Clint said suddenly, waving at the trophy buckled in on the bench seat between them. (Phil knew Clint had put on the seatbelt so the gaudy thing wouldn't go through the windshield if they hit a bump. It was practical and not adorable. Not at all.) “It's yours.”

“Thanks, but I can't,” Phil said with a laugh. “Really, can you imagine trying to hide that from my parents?”

The resigned sadness in Clint's voice was shocking. “Does this all mean so little to you?”

“No, of course not. Why would you say that?”

“You obviously have a great relationship with your folks. Yeah, I know, you told me about the anti-gun thing. When are you going to stand up for what you enjoy, what you're good at?”

“It's not that simple.”

“It's exactly that simple. You're just not willing to rock the boat.”

“You don't understand.”

“You're right, I don't understand what it's like to have a big, supportive family.”

“That's not what I meant and you know it,” Phil muttered. He stared out the window until they pulled into the staff parking lot.

When he went to open his door, Clint stopped him with a hand wrapped around his wrist. “You've gotta come up to the fire pit.”

“Is this another tradition you forgot to tell me about?” Phil couldn't keep the sulk out of his tone.

“People have been texting me all afternoon. Now they want to celebrate. And Natasha's back from her thing; she'll want to hear how it went first-hand. From you.”

Phil didn't want to go, but he wanted to argue about it even less. “Fine. For a little while.”

Once they were within sight of the fire, Clint raised the trophy over his head and yelled, “We have returned victorious!”

“Mostly victorious,” Phil corrected quietly.

“Spoilsport,” Clint responded in the same tone, but he was smiling. Raising his voice again, he amended, “Phil says we've returned only kind of victorious!”

Phil blushed and socked Clint in the shoulder. He could hear the group laughing and catcalling.

The two guys accepted congratulations and hugs and backslaps. Natasha kissed them both before urging Phil to sit next to her to go over what felt like every single shot in the competition.

Clint kept glancing over Natasha's shoulder at their darkened cabin. She caught his eye and nodded, then stood and pulled Phil up with her. “Come,” she said. “James is being anti-social but I'd like very much for you to meet.”

The man in the front room of the cabin was standing just beyond the window that overlooked the fire pit. He was still and alert, though Phil got the impression he'd been watching them outside and didn't want to be caught at it.

Clint was pleased but unsurprised. “Bucky, good to see you, man. Nat manage to spring you?”

“As you see,” the man – Bucky? James? – replied. His voice was gruff, like he didn't use it much.

“Phil, this is James Barnes,” Natasha introduced. “Yasha, this is Phil Coulson. He's the one who provided my legal advice.”

“Everyone but Tasha calls me Bucky,” the man said as he shook Phil's hand.

“Bucky is not a people name,” Natasha said disdainfully. “It is a name for a cartoon beaver.”

Bucky gave her a fond look; clearly this was a longstanding argument. “Anyway, thanks a lot for your help. If it weren't for you, I'd probably still be stuck in the looney bin. And that place can drive a person crazy,” he said with a sharp smile.

“I really didn't do much,” Phil said, fidgeting. “Just asked my dad some questions.”

“You took the resources you had and used them to help a couple of strangers,” Clint pointed out quietly from behind them. “That's not something a lot of people would do.”

When Phil looked dubious, Bucky added, “Trust us, we'd know.” With a nod to the guys and a kiss to Natasha's temple, he disappeared into one of the bedrooms.

Natasha watched him go, sadness clear in her eyes. “I insisted we come up here tonight so he could see you, but we are going to stay at the house in the village for a while. He is not ready to be among people.”

“Is he okay?” Phil asked. He didn't want to pry, but he couldn't help being concerned for Natasha's safety.

“He will be, now that he's back with us,” she assured him. “The past two weeks have been difficult for him, but we are his family and we will take care of him. Even if I have to sit on his chest and force his medications down his throat.”

Clint snorted. “Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Not that I wouldn't bet on you in a fight.”

“He has PTSD,” Natasha explained, seeing that none of their banter was reassuring Phil at all. “He was in the same training program that I was, in Russia. Once I had come to the States, it took longer than anyone anticipated to get him out, too. During that time was the accident that took his arm.”

Bucky had a way of standing at an angle, keeping his right side subtly turned towards the person he was talking to. Even so, it was hard to miss the fact that his left sleeve was empty.

“Your father's advice was crucial,” she told Phil. “The hospital was citing HIPAA regulations, saying that James could not be released to me because I was not authorized to know the details of his care. I reminded them that anyone can waive those rights for whomever they chose, or else no one's insurance would ever pay. Their claim that James's mental state prevented him from making decisions regarding his mental health care was a catch-18.”

“Catch-22,” Clint interrupted.

“Excuse me?”

“You said catch-18. The phrase is catch-22.”

“Is that a necessary detail in this story, Clinton Francis?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Then shut your mouth and let me finish.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She turned away from Clint's smirk to glare at Phil, who was just barely managing to hold in his laughter. “Anyway,” she said pointedly, “that got the social worker on my side. The hospital representatives barely argued at all after that.”

“I'm glad it all worked out,” Phil said.

“Oh, that's not even the best part. I've been thinking a lot about what you said, about establishing next-of-kin and families of choice. So James and I went straight from the hospital to the courthouse. We got married.”

If Phil hadn't glanced at Clint at that exact moment, he'd have missed the lost, stricken look that crossed the other man's face. In the space of a blink, Clint was grinning. “Tasha, that's awesome. As soon as Bucky's up for it, we've gotta have a party. Have you told anyone else yet? Man, Tony's gonna be pissed. He has a chunk of money on Thor and Jane. Can I tell him?”

“Congratulations,” Phil said softly. He was barely audible over Clint's excited chatter.

“Thank you, Phil,” Natasha replied sincerely, “thank you for everything.”

Phil excused himself and walked back to his cabin in a daze. Jen met him at the door and pulled him into their room. “God, you're back late,” she exclaimed. “How'd it go?”

“I...I don't know.”

“Wait, what? How can you not know? Were the results of the tournament somehow unclear?”

Phil stared at her for a beat. “Oh, the tournament.” It felt like several days had passed since then. “Pretty good, actually. The rifle rounds were really easy, but I was up against this wünderkind friend of Clint's in the archery final and I kind of froze up. We came in second.”

“That's incredible!” Jen gave him a quick, fierce hug. “I knew you could do it. I'm so proud of you.”

Phil grinned. “Thanks. I wish you could have been there.”

“Me too. This whole sneaking around business kind of blows.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “So if the tournament itself went well, what's got you all –” She fluttered her hands on either side of her face.

“Natasha was able to talk the hospital into releasing her friend into her care. Dad's advice really helped. Then she went to the logical conclusion and came back with a husband.”

“Whoa, back up,” Jen sputtered. “You said her friend was a girl.”

“All Russian diminutives sound like girls' names,” Phil said with a grimace. “He's actually a James.”

“Oh. What about Clint?”

“No idea. I can't really imagine Natasha doing that to him. He sounded really happy for her, for them, but it was like...he was protesting too much? Like he was covering up what he really felt. I just don't know what to think.”

“You didn't stick around to find out?”

“The tournament's over, Jen. I did what I said I would. Now I can back off and not get mixed up in all the drama.”

“But they're your friends. What are you going to do, avoid them for the rest of the summer? Pretend the past two weeks didn't happen?”

Phil groaned. “Damn it, I don't know. If nothing else, today showed me that I don't know them at all. I can't deal with any of this tonight. And would you stop looking at me like that?”

Jen's expression was dubious and disappointed. “Stop talking like a whiny douchebag and I will. Anyway, I told Ma we hung out this afternoon and you seemed to be feeling better, but then you turned green at the thought of dinner. We had that amazing lobster bisque again. I brought you some.”

“Oh, great. Where is it?”

“I ate it, fool. Ma wanted to come check on you; I had to text her to say you were already asleep. Didn't you have dinner?”

“I did, but...bisque,” Phil said sadly. He sighed. “Thank you for covering for me. I'm sorry I put you in that position.”

She softened immediately. “You're welcome. I'm sorry things got so complicated on you.” He laughed shortly and she leaned against his side. “Now go to bed. You look like you're about to fall over.”


	9. Game Change

Just after one a.m., Phil's phone chimed. He'd been lying awake for hours and grabbed for it before it could wake Jen.

**Clint:** _need to talk 2 u_

**Clint:** _meet me @ archry range?_

Phil frowned. He and Clint had exchanged texts a few times before, but never in the middle of the night. Phil couldn't imagine what Clint needed him for and he was positive it wasn't worth traipsing through the woods in the dark. He was about to say so when another message came through.

**Clint:** _please_

He was an idiot and a sucker and he was going to regret this. Cursing himself, Phil texted back: _Okay, give me a few minutes_. He pulled on a hoodie over his t-shirt and sleep pants and stuck his feet into sneakers.

Before he left the room, he glanced back at his sleeping sister. He was uncomfortable taking off without letting anyone know where he was going. But waking Jen up was a dicey prospect at best and she probably wouldn't even remember the conversation in the morning. In the end he wrote a quick note and left it under her phone on the nightstand.

The moon was full, so it wasn't nearly as dark as Phil had feared. Nevertheless, he hurried down the path around the lake, mumbling to himself about being a city boy and trying not to flinch at every noise and hint of motion.

Clint was sitting with his back against the equipment shed with his knees drawn up to his chest. He didn't move as Phil approached. Phil stopped a few steps away, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited.

“They're my only family, you know?” Clint said after a bit, still not looking at Phil. “Nat and Bucky. But they've always had their shared history. And now...they got married. What the hell do they need me around for?”

Phil, confused as ever, didn't have a response.

“And you,” Clint accused, finally looking up, “I just can't figure you out. Every time I think I have, you go all weird on me. Like tonight.”

“I guess I just felt kind of guilty,” Phil responded quietly.

That brought Clint up short. “Okay, do you see how that doesn't make any sense at all? Guilty about what?”

“I was the one who brought up getting married as a way for Natasha to solve her next-of-kin problem.”

“Well, yeah. It was great advice. The only person it doesn't actually benefit is me, and it's not like you knew I was going to be a whiny asshole about it. At least, I hope not.”

“You're not being an asshole. I can't imagine getting blindsided like that. Natasha didn't even talk to you about it first, or wait until you were alone to break up with you.”

“What the hell are you talking about now? Break up with –? Oh. Oh!” Clint's eyes went comically wide. “Oh my god. Oh my god, you thought Nat and I were a couple.” And with that, he dissolved into helpless laughter.

Phil folded his arms tighter and waited for the other man to get a hold of himself. (It took an unreasonably long time. Every time Clint seemed to be winding down, he'd mutter something and set himself off again.) It wasn't comfortable, being laughed at, but Phil couldn't even bring himself to be annoyed. Clint was scorchingly hot under normal circumstances. Like this, completely undone with mirth, eyes dancing and nose scrunching, he was breathtaking.

Finally, Clint pushed himself to his feet, gasping for breath. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he panted.

“It's an easy mistake to make,” Phil said, trying for neutral but landing somewhere between sour and defensive. “Everyone talks about you two like you're a unit, even you. And you guys are different with each other.”

“I know. We did give it a try, ages ago, when we were lonely and horny and didn't have anyone else. But it was really obvious that it wasn't going to work. We're better as friends and she and Bucky are basically terrifying Russian soulmates. I love her more than my life, but there's nothing romantic between us.”

All Phil could say was, “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Clint teased. Then he scowled. “Wait a second. If Nat and I were together, why would I ask you out?”

“You never asked me out.”

“I did so! I asked you to have dinner with me.”

“What, tonight?”

“No, not tonight,” Clint scoffed. “It was like a week and a half ago. You practically bit my head off.”

“Oh. I thought you were just offering to let me tag along,” Phil said with a grimace. He couldn't look Clint in the eye. “I didn't think you were interested in me. I thought you were taken. And, you know, probably straight.”

“Well, I'm not any of those things.”

“Not taken, straight, or interested?”

Clint blinked. “No! Not taken, or straight, or _not_ interested.” Phil couldn’t hold back a small smirk. Clint rolled his eyes. “You're a goddamned tease, you know that? You used to blush whenever I flirted with you. Then you started frowning when I did, which somehow managed to be just as freaking adorable.”

Phil looked up shyly. “I was just trying not to make a fool of myself.”

“I'm not sure you could.” Clint's voice was lower, rougher. “You just take everything in stride. Your crazy family, my stupid tournament, Nat's legal problems. It's like you can handle anything. I've never met anyone like you.”

“Maybe I'm just really good at faking it,” Phil whispered.

“And you think that's not a superpower? All twisted up on the inside and still cool and unruffled on the outside? Makes me want to ruffle you even more.”

“Really?”

“God, yes. Always. You have no idea how hard it's been to keep my hands to myself all these weeks. That incredible blue suit you wore to the welcome banquet? I wanted to peel it off you with my teeth.”

The noise Phil made was perilously close to a whimper. Clint's smile sharpened. “Of course, there's still one important question. You know that I'm interested, but I don't know if you are.”

Phil figured this had to be teasing, since his sleep pants were doing absolutely nothing to hide his erection. He closed the distance between them, slid one hand around the back of Clint's neck, and the other around an impressive bicep. They stayed right there for a charged moment before tilting their heads and letting their lips come together.

At first, the kiss was soft and almost chaste. Their mouths moved together in a gentle rhythm. Phil rubbed his thumb over the curve of muscle in Clint's arm. Clint unconsciously flexed at the caress; Phil gasped and Clint took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. He also slid his hands to Phil's hips and pulled their bodies flush.

Phil's head was spinning. He was entirely focused on Clint – their tongues sliding together, bodies arching, hands clutching as they tried to get closer than was physically possible.

“So we're on the same page?” Clint asked, panting and chuckling, when they finally parted.

“God, I hope so,” Phil responded. “'Cause I really, really wanna suck your dick.”

Clint's head fell back against the wall of the shed with a painful-sounding thunk. “Oh, fuck,” he ground out, “yeah, okay, I'm on board with that, yeah.”

Phil dropped to his knees in the grass. As he pulled open Clint's jeans, he looked up at the other man's face. Clint was breathing harshly, swollen lips parted, pupils blown. A wave of lust crashed through Phil at the sight. He had to pause for a moment and press a hand against his own aching cock. He yanked on Clint's clothes, determined to take control of the situation before he came in his pants.

“Everything okay down there?” Clint asked shakily when Phil paused after freeing his cock.

“Yeah,” Phil said absently. “I've just never been with a guy who's uncut before.” Clint wasn't long, but he was thick and deliciously hard. Phil wrapped his hand around the shaft and gave an experimental stroke. Even without lube, it was easy – Clint's soft foreskin slid down, exposing the sensitive head, then back again. It was a little bit like getting to unwrap a present over and over again. Phil snickered at the mental image.

Immediately there was a gentle hand in his hair. Phil glanced up. Clint's expression was aroused and curious and confused and adorable. Phil winked at him before taking as much of Clint's cock into his mouth as he could.

Clint's eyes slammed shut, his head fell back against the wall, and he let out a growl that went straight to Phil's balls. There was no more teasing. Phil licked and sucked and stroked, single-minded in his desire to drive Clint over the edge. It didn't take long before Clint was practically doubled over and gasping curses and praise. “God, so good, Phil, I'm gonna –”

Without thinking about it too much, Phil sped up his rhythm and sucked hard. Clint came with a shout and flooded Phil's mouth. Phil flinched slightly – he'd never particularly liked the taste or texture of come – but he swallowed and kept going, softer now, until the aftershocks of Clint's orgasm faded and he went still.

Phil pulled off and rested his forehead against Clint's thigh as he tried to catch his breath. Clint pawed at his shoulders until he stood. “That was incredible,” Clint muttered between sloppy kisses, “you're incredible.”

The elastic waistband of Phil's sleep pants was no barrier at all to Clint's seeking hand. He shoved Phil's clothes out of the way to get to his dripping cock.

Phil wasn't able to do more than hold on and pant into Clint's neck as Clint jerked him off. It was fast and a little rough, but perfect. Phil felt like all the strength in his body drained out with his sudden orgasm. He let Clint's strong arms hold him up as he shivered through it.

They leaned on each other for a long time while they traded lazy, nuzzling kisses. Phil pulled away just enough to look down their bodies. They were a mess – clothes in disarray, junk hanging out, sticky streaks of come everywhere. He started to laugh. “Well, that was definitely something.”

“Yes it was,” Clint agreed cheerfully. He quickly made himself decent (while Phil did the same) and linked his fingers through Phil's. “Come on, let's get back.”

They paused at the fork where the path to the staff area split away from the path to the guest areas and spent several more minutes kissing. “I'm not getting up at the crack of dawn to work out with you any more,” Phil said.

“Nah, I think we've found a much better exercise program,” Clint replied with a smile. “You'll still come shoot with me in the afternoon, right?”

“Of course,” Phil agreed. They finally made themselves part, grinning over their shoulders at each other like idiots as they walked away.


	10. Idyll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** This chapter contains a very brief mention of physical abuse and sexual coercion in a character's past.

The next day dawned gray and rainy. Phil floated through the morning with his family. He barely noticed Jen's narrow-eyed looks until she pulled him aside and reminded him to use a condom. He smiled serenely and promised that he would. She just rolled her eyes at that.

It was a nasty surprise when he walked into the gun range after lunch and found Natasha giving him a similar gimlet-eyed stare. He could feel the smile slip off his face. “Um, hi, Natasha,” he said, swallowing hard. “Is everything okay?”

“At the moment, yes, everything is fine. I intend to see that it stays that way.”

When it became clear she wasn't going to elaborate, Phil said carefully, “Okay, the scary Russian thing is really effective, but it would probably work even better if I knew what you were talking about.”

She sighed and deflated a bit. “Clint is not very good at protecting himself when it comes to people he likes. Even with just a summer fling, it would be very easy for him to get hurt. If that happens, if you hurt him, I will hurt you. No questions asked.”

She was giving him the shovel talk. Ridiculously, he felt tears prickle at the backs of his eyes. He moved slowly towards Natasha. She watched him warily but didn't protest, even when he wrapped his arms around her. “Thank you.”

“This is not the reaction I was expecting,” she muttered into his chest. She patted his back awkwardly until he released her, at which point she stepped back out of his reach.

“Sorry. It's just...nobody's ever thought I was important enough to threaten. All my relationships have been really casual or, like, friends-with-benefits type things. I'm not exactly anyone's idea of a heartbreaker.”

She cocked her head at him. “I think maybe you're spending time with the wrong people. Clint likes you a lot. If absolutely nothing else, that makes you important.”

Phil blushed. “I promise I'll do my best not to hurt him. If it happens, it won't be intentional and I'll deserve anything you dish out.”

“All right,” she said with a nod. Then she grinned. “Clint asked me to pass on a message. Since the weather is so bad, he suggests meeting at the cabin. Perhaps he wishes to discuss theory.”

Phil's blush, which had been fading, came back with a vengeance. “Okay. Should we do some work here first?”

“Well, since you are the only one of my students to show up today, and you have someone waiting for you, I propose we cancel class. After all, I have someone waiting for me as well.”

“Right. Shouldn't leave your new husband alone too long.”

“Exactly so. Please tell Clint I will see him this evening. Unless James convinces me that wearing clothes is too much bother, in which case I will see him tomorrow.”

“Wow, that is so much more than I needed to know.”

She patted him on the cheek as she passed. “You're a sweet boy. There are condoms in my bedside table if you guys run out.”

Phil groaned and Natasha laughed.

He made himself keep to a sedate walk on the way to the staff cabins. It turned out not to matter – Clint and Natasha's place was unlocked but empty. Phil peeked into both bedrooms just to make sure, but he wasn't comfortable poking around any more than that. He settled on the couch to wait. The lack of sleep the previous night caught up with him all of a sudden and he dozed off.

He awoke some time later to a hand brushing his hair off his face and Clint's gorgeous eyes twinkling at him. “Hey there, Sleeping Beauty.”

“What's with you and fairy tale princesses?” Phil asked around a yawn.

“Don't know. Must be something you bring out in me.”

“Well, you skipped the best part.” Phil grabbed the front of Clint's shirt and tugged. He could feel Clint's smile against his lips before they got down to the serious business of making out.

One of Clint's hands wandered under Phil's shirt. Phil gasped at the friction and tried to pull Clint more completely on top of him. Clint not only resisted but pulled away entirely. Phil whimpered in protest. He'd probably be embarrassed about that eventually but at the moment he was too turned on to care.

“Easy,” Clint said. His voice was lower and rougher than usual. (Phil was instantly reminded of him singing by the bonfire that first night. Definitely something they were going to have to revisit.) “I've got a perfectly nice bed in the next room. Come on.”

Phil let himself be manhandled off the couch and into the bedroom. They stood next to the bed, breathing hard. Clint grinned and yanked his shirt off, and then it was a race to get naked.

They fell into the bed together. “Oh, fuck,” Phil groaned. Clint was all soft skin and firm muscle and hot, hard cock. Phil clutched at him, finally getting him where he wanted, stretched out on top and pressing Phil into the mattress.

Clint squirmed around until their erections lined up and began thrusting, sweat and precome easing the slide. Phil dropped his hands down and dug his fingers into the flexing muscles of Clint's ass.

They rutted together, mindlessly chasing pleasure. Clint came first, burying his face in Phil's throat with a heartfelt moan. He dragged his teeth over Phil's skin and Phil was there too, shouting as he spurted between them.

By the time Clint rolled away, Phil was half asleep again. He heard the other man rummage around, then return to wipe away the cooling mess on his belly. “I'm trying not to take this personally,” Clint commented before placing a soft kiss on Phil's lips.

“'S your fault,” Phil slurred. “Talkin' in the middle of the night an' then awesome sex.”

“Well, when you put it that way.” Clint slid back into place next to him. Phil shifted just enough to nuzzle into Clint's shoulder, then he was asleep.

When Phil woke again, he was curled completely into Clint's side with an arm and a leg thrown over his bedmate. He lay quietly for a while, just studying Clint. Asleep, Clint was practically angelic – thick lashes dark against his skin and full lips slightly parted.

“Hi,” Phil said shyly when Clint's eyelids fluttered open.

“Hi yourself,” Clint responded. He cleared his throat, then reached for the bottle of Gatorade on his nightstand. He offered it to Phil, who drank gratefully.

“I'm sorry I fell asleep on you.” Phil grimaced. “Literally.”

“I'm not complaining,” Clint assured him, stroking his hand down Phil's back. “I'm sorry I wasn't here when you came over. Wasn't expecting you so early.”

“Yeah, Natasha decided we both had better places to be. And people to do.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “At least they're staying in town. I do not need to hear them going at it like rabbits at all hours.”

“Speaking of which, she said to tell you she might not be back tonight. And that we're welcome to the condoms in her room.”

“Ugh. Hey, you have sisters. Do they treat you like this?”

“Well, the older ones still think I'm a kid, so they'd probably be grossed out by the idea that I'm having sex at all. But Jen? Yeah, pretty much.” Phil rested one hand flat on Clint's chest with his chin on top of it. His other hand drew lazy patterns across Clint's skin. “Will you tell me about Beijing?” he asked tentatively.

Clint understood that Phil was asking how he and Natasha met. “Okay. We, the archery team I mean, had team events and then individual events. Most big tournaments have those on consecutive days. In Beijing, for whatever reason, there was a full day between them. The coaches just wanted us to take it easy and stay out of trouble, so a bunch of the guys and I did a quick workout in the morning. I was leaving the training hall when I heard people arguing. Now I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not so great at minding my own business.”

“I've noticed,” Phil said fondly.

“Yeah, so there was this redheaded kid and this muscle-bound guy who had to be three times her size. I couldn't understand them 'cause they were speaking Russian, but he was definitely angry and she sounded scared. She wasn't, 'cause _Natasha_ , but I didn't know that.

“Out of nowhere, he hauls off and socks her right in the stomach. She didn't make a sound, just crumpled. I yelled but the guy was already walking away. When I got to her, she was still conscious, but just barely, and she was white as a sheet. I went back inside to get somebody from the med staff. They got her into an ambulance and nobody really questioned me being there too.

“Turns out she'd been having back spasms and she'd woken up that morning with a really high fever.”

“Oh god, it was her appendix, wasn't it?” Phil asked, appalled.

“Got it in one. It ruptured when the coach punched her.”

“That was her _coach_?”

“One of them, yeah. Anyway, she was in the hospital for almost 60 hours. I wouldn't leave her alone there. I missed my individual events and she missed all of hers, so we were both dropped from our teams and were basically on our own.”

“What do you mean, on your own? You just got abandoned in a foreign country?”

“Well, we both had our passports, and I had a plane ticket back to the States. There was a person at the hospital, kind of like a social worker? They put me in touch with the American embassy. It took a couple of weeks to figure out what to do with us. Since I wasn't on the team anymore, I didn't really have a home to go back to. And there was no way Nat was going back to Russia. She didn't have any family left, either. The Olympic Committee got involved when the State Department threatened to reveal the abuse. Plus the fact that the coach who hit her had also been coercing her into sleeping with him.”

Phil felt sick. “I want to say that's unbelievable, but I know it's not. Poor Natasha.”

“Yeah, don't ever let her hear you say that,” Clint said. “There's a reason she won't talk about all this. Besides the State Department gag order, of course.”

“There's a gag order?” Phil shook his head. “Are you breaking the law by telling me all this?”

“Me? Nah. I was never more than an afterthought in the whole mess. Anyway, Nat was granted asylum and we were put in a halfway house until we turned 18. Nat was supposed to get counseling but they never found someone who spoke Russian.”

“She didn't speak any English?”

“Yes and no. She understood pretty much everything, but she wasn't willing to speak it until she could do it perfectly, including the accent. Took about a year. I had to pick up a lot of Russian just to communicate with her.”

Phil was honestly boggled. “It's amazing that she came through all that and is doing as well she is. That both of you did.”

“Aw, I wasn't the one whose world got turned upside-down,” Clint said bashfully. “I was used to fending for myself. Nat's the first person I've really trusted to have my back since...well, ever, I guess.”

There wasn't anything Phil could say to that. He tried to keep his feelings – a complicated mess of sorrow and pity and admiration – off his face, but knew he failed when Clint leaned over and kissed him soundly.

“Anyway,” Clint continued, “the thing that really helped Natasha the most was fighting for Bucky. She did all this research and took it back to the contacts we'd made at the State Department. Believe it or not, the fact that Bucky's an American citizen actually made the whole process harder.”

“How long ago did all that happen?” Phil didn't want to assume he had any right to information about Natasha and Bucky's private life, but he was curious.

Clint squinted at the ceiling. “Year and a half? No, almost two years now. It's been pretty rough for him, but every time he takes off to 'find himself' he comes back to Natasha in the end.”

“And to you,” Phil pointed out.

“Hey, I'm not the one sleeping with him. Not that he's not hotter than sin, of course. But I've never been into bad boys and he's Natasha's on this really profound level. There's no way I'd mess with that.”

“And now they're married.”

“Yup.” Clint let out a loud, theatrical sigh. “Which probably means he's going to stay closer to home. I've always known I couldn't live with Nat and get by doing odd jobs forever, but it's been pretty sweet. I have no idea what comes next.”

They lapsed into silence for a while, before Phil asked, “If you could do anything at all, what would it be?”

Clint mulled that over, then grinned. “Nope. No way. One deep conversation per day, that's my limit.” He tightened his arms around Phil and rolled them so he was on top again. “I know what I want to do right now.”

“Smooth, Barton,” Phil said drily. He couldn't help squirming under the delicious weight of Clint's body.

“Do you prefer to top or bottom?” asked Clint as he kissed his way down Phil's neck. “'Cause either one's cool with me.”

Phil froze. “Oh. Um. Yeah. I, uh, I've never actually done either.”

Clint pulled back with a frown. “What?”

“The other guys I've been with, we...it wasn't a big thing. We never got beyond blowjobs and handjobs.”

“Oh.” Clint digested that, then rushed on, “Well, that's okay, if you want to stick with that, that's cool too. Whatever you're comfortable with, that's what I want. And hey, it's my turn to suck you off.” He started sliding down the bed.

Phil was momentarily swamped by images of Clint's lips wrapped around his dick. He pulled himself together and grabbed at Clint's shoulders. “No, wait! I want, I want to. With you.” He stayed still as Clint studied him, trying to silently project how sure he was.

“Okay then,” Clint said finally, “what'll it be?”

Phil took a deep breath. If he couldn't say it, he shouldn't be doing it. “I want to fuck you.”

He was instantly rewarded by Clint's face going slack with lust. “Yeah. God, yes. Absolutely, let's do that.” Clint rolled over and began pawing through the drawer in the nightstand, pulling out a bottle of lube and a strip of condoms. “Just give me a minute to prep and then we'll get right down to –”

“Can I do that?” Phil interrupted.

“What? Oh, yeah, of course.” Clint handed over the supplies, turned on his stomach, and shoved a pillow under his hips. When Phil hesitated, he looked over his shoulder and winked. “Ready when you are, captain.”

“Seems like I should be the one asking for permission to come aboard.”

“Permission granted” was the laughing reply.

Phil sat back on his heels. He’d done a lot of research (and it hadn’t all been porn), so he had a decent idea what to do. But that was a lot different than having a guy spread out in front of him. He wasn't sure if he was more intimidated by Clint's incredible ass or his trust. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“I'm not made of glass, babe, I'm not gonna break. And if you do something I don't like, trust me, I'll let you know.”

“Okay. Deal.” Phil coated his fingers with lube and trailed them down the crack of Clint's ass. He used his other hand to separate Clint's cheeks and eased one fingertip inside.

Clint hissed and Phil immediately withdrew and started babbling apologies. “God, no!” Clint responded forcefully. “That was a good sound, a really good sound. Are you gonna give me more or do I have to beg first?”

“Kinda like the sound of that,” Phil teased, but he obligingly slid his finger all the way in and thrust gently. In no time at all Clint was keening and moving his hips back to increase the friction. Phil added a second finger, marveling at the tight heat.

Experimentally, Phil crooked his fingers. Clint yelped. “Whoa, gently, gently.” Phil altered his angle, slowly stretching Clint open while only barely brushing his prostate. “Yeah, that's good. Fuck that's good. Yes, fuck, god, I want you inside me. Want you to open me up with your cock.”

“Sure you're ready?” Phil rasped.

“Yes, yes. Fill me up, fuck me, come on. Please.”

Phil's hands were shaking so badly he had to open the condom wrapper with his teeth. He rolled it on and slicked himself up. Lube sloshed all over the place in his rush. Finally, he lined up and pushed into Clint's welcoming body in one slow but firm thrust.

Clint arched his back and let out a moan that was downright pornographic. Phil clutched Clint's hips and made himself take several deep breaths, trying desperately not to come immediately.

The sensations were so intense that Phil had trouble processing them. His entire focus narrowed to the velvet vise of Clint's ass clenching around his cock. With a soft, helpless sound, he started moving.

There was no finesse, barely any rhythm. Just the sharp slap of flesh on flesh and the heavy, musky scent of sex.

“I can't...I'm not...oh god, Clint, I'm gonna come,” Phil panted desperately.

“Yeah, okay, that's okay, just stay with me,” Clint responded. He shifted back until he could brace himself with one hand on the wall above the bed. He dropped his free hand down to fist his cock.

That visual was so mindbendingly hot that Phil's hips slammed harder without his conscious volition. “Yes! Fuck yeah, there, there, there!” Clint chanted. He threw his head back as he climaxed.

The spasms that wracked Clint's body shoved Phil violently over the precipice as well. He slumped forward, letting Clint hold them up, before they slumped onto their sides and disengaged.

Clint let him relax for a few minutes, then poked Phil in the ribs and announced, “Shower time.” Phil grumbled and turned over, which was a terrible idea because the next thing he felt was Clint smacking his ass. “Come on, you're way too young to need a nap every time you come.”

“Fuck you,” Phil mumbled.

Clint laughed. “Yeah, next time.” He bullied Phil into the shower with him. If Phil had had any energy at all, he'd have been happy to go for three while they were in there. As it was, he leaned against the tile and let himself be briskly washed.

He didn't know how secretive they were going to have to be. Natasha knew, of course, but that was because Clint didn't keep anything from her (and probably couldn't, even if he'd wanted to). Phil figured that sleeping with guests had to be at least frowned on, if not outright against the resort's code of conduct. Though according to the stories he'd been told, it happened frequently anyway.

He was surprised, then, when Clint backed him up to the wall outside the front door and kissed him goodbye in full view of the entire staff quarters. It was a pleasant surprise, so Phil happily went with it.


	11. Discovery

They had a week and a half where everything went their way. Phil and Clint spent their afternoons together, on the archery range as well as in bed. Once the family had retired in the evenings, Phil would go hang out in the staff quarters. Several times Jen went, too; she had developed her own friendships among the young people who kept the resort running.

(“I may not be into shooting things, but I can still hurt you if I need to,” she'd announced to Clint on her first visit. Clint had been properly chastised and Natasha had nodded approvingly.)

Natasha and Bucky were still staying at the house Natasha owned in town, so Clint and Phil had the cabin to themselves at night. They had a lot of sex, but also spent hours talking and made 2 a.m. runs to the diner for milkshakes. Almost more than anything else, Phil liked actually sleeping with Clint. None of his previous relationships had involved sharing a bed.

Phil had to keep reminding himself not to get too attached or get in too deep. He and Clint were just having fun. Neither of them mentioned the end of the summer session, looming less than two weeks away. Trying to keep anything going long-distance was out of the question; that was hard enough on stable relationships, much less something as new and fragile as what they had.

It was difficult. Phil had never felt like this before. Just being around Clint made him simultaneously giddy and centered. Running into the other man when they were both busy with other things was a particularly sweet flavor of torture. They'd greet each other politely, but Clint would wink or casually lick his lips or look Phil up and down, whatever he thought he could get away with. Phil would immediately fall into a feedback loop of sensory memories – naked skin under his hands and a husky voice in his ear exhorting him to go faster, harder.

Phil made sure to get back at him as much as possible when they were alone. One memorable afternoon, they were on the archery range. They didn't always have the range to themselves but did that day. Phil gently goaded Clint into showing off how long he could hold his bow at full draw.

Phil took a moment to appreciate Clint's remarkable muscles, taut and solid, before he plastered himself against Clint's back. He quickly unbuttoned the archer's shorts and slid his hands inside.

“What the hell are you doing?” Clint demanded. He was so shocked by Phil's audacity that his voice rose almost to a squeak.

“Taking advantage,” Phil said with a chuckle. He moved Clint's clothes out of the way and began stroking and fondling. “You didn't say anything about not being able to deal with distractions.”

Clint scoffed. “I can deal with distractions.” But he sounded hoarse and sweat was trickling down his neck. Phil chased the drops with his tongue, making Clint shiver.

“If you say so,” Phil agreed mildly. “But if you need me to stop, just tell me you can't handle it. And whatever you do, don't dry-fire your bow.”

“Very funny,” Clint muttered. His cock was fully hard under Phil's ministrations and his locked muscles were starting to tremble.

“Because you know what happens when you dry-fire a bow,” Phil continued, low and silky and directly in Clint's ear. “All that tension has nowhere to go and the pressure could make it explode.” He punctuated each suggestive word with a swipe of his thumb over the head of Clint's erection.

“I'm going to get you for this,” Clint said darkly.

“How are you going to do that?”

“I'm going to knock you on your ass and suck you until you scream.”

“That sounds like a chal – oof!” Before Phil could finish, Clint stepped back sharply, pivoted his hip, and took Phil's legs out from under him. Phil landed hard on the ground with the breath knocked out of him. In the time it took Phil to regain his bearings, Clint safely returned his bow to its resting position, set it aside, and pounced.

He yanked Phil's shorts and underwear down and swallowed his cock in one smooth motion. Phil lost his breath a second time in a yell of agonized pleasure. He couldn't move – Clint had one arm thrown over his abdomen, pinning him to the ground – he could only lie there and take it as Clint blew his mind. He could hear himself babbling nonsense to the clear blue sky until he came down Clint's throat.

Phil was dimly aware of Clint gasping as he finished himself off. The Clint tucked Phil gently back into his clothes and sprawled out on the grass next to him. Phil groped for Clint's hand, linked their fingers together, and rolled his head to the side. “Okay, I'll admit it. You win that one.”

Clint gave him a lazy, contented smile and licked his lips. “It's a gift.”

They stayed there as long as they could, basking in the sun and in each other's company. When Phil could feel his skin prickling with incipient sunburn, he got to his feet and tugged Clint up with him. They slowly made their way back around the lake.

That evening, as Phil was finishing up dinner with his family, Tony Stark came over to their table. “Hey buddy,” he said, slapping Phil on the back.

“Hi,” Phil responded warily.

“I tried to catch you on the archery range this afternoon –”

“Tony, I need to speak to you,” Jen interrupted. Her voice was tight with warning.

At the same time, Mrs Coulson turned to her husband and said, “Archery range?”

Tony was completely oblivious to the minor crisis he was causing. “– but you guys looked so peaceful I didn't want to interrupt. I just wanted to say congrats on the tournament. Haven't seen you around much and I didn't have a chance before.”

Phil was so relieved that Tony hadn't actually witnessed him having sex with Clint that he failed to brace himself for what he should have seen coming.

“What tournament?” Phil's mom asked in a tone that sounded pleasant but that had all her children scooting their chairs away from her.

“Oh, Phil didn't tell you? My dad sponsors an archery and rifle tournament every summer. Clint and Natasha represent us, but Natasha couldn't make it this year so Phil took her place. He did great, they came in second.”

“Now, Tony!” Jen practically yelled. With a quick look at Phil, she jumped up and grabbed Tony by the arm. “I'll be right back,” she tossed over her shoulder as she dragged Tony away from the table.

“What was he talking about?” Mrs Coulson demanded of her son. “Explain this right now.”

Before Phil could answer, his father spoke up. “I think we need more privacy for this conversation. Mary Alice, Phillip, let's go back to our rooms.”

Silently, Phil followed his parents out of the dining room. He straightened his shoulders and reminded himself that he was an adult. The situation was making him feel about as old as one of his nephews, awaiting punishment for fighting on the playground.

The three of them sat in the family room of the Coulson's bungalow. “All right, Phil, go ahead,” Mr Coulson prompted.

Phil took a deep breath and said calmly, “It's like Tony said. There's an annual tournament. Participation is important for Clint and Natasha's employment. She had a personal matter that had to be dealt with that day, so I volunteered to go in her place.”

“Remind me who these people are, again?”

“Natasha Romanoff is the rangemaster and rifle instructor. Clint Barton is the archery instructor. I've gotten to know them and I...I consider them friends.

“And you participated in this tournament just with the skills you picked up this summer?”

“No, sir. Granddad taught me. We used to go hunting every summer.” Mrs Coulson made a pained noise but Phil soldiered on. “I joined a club team the second week of school last fall. I was already training with Natasha when the tournament came up.”

“How could you?” his mother burst out. “How could you do this, knowing how I feel about guns?”

“Ma, what happened to Uncle Ray was a tragedy, but it was an accident.”

“Don't you even talk about that, Phillip John! I can't believe you. I can't believe you've been lying to us all this time.”

“Look, I'm sorry for sneaking around. But I'm not going to apologize for something that's not illegal, not immoral, and that I'm good at. And I'm certainly not going to apologize for helping a friend!” Phil squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed at the fraying edges of his temper. “Come on, Ma, how long have I been talking about going into law enforcement?”

“We always figured you'd go to law school,” Mr Coulson said ruefully.

“Yeah, that's gonna be Jen. I'm leaning more in the direction of the FBI. That's who sponsors my club team, so I'm already making contacts.”

“I don't know what you expect me to say,” Mrs Coulson jumped back in. “It's your life, but I will not – I cannot – support you in this.”

“Ma, please, if you would just listen –”

“No.” She stood up. “I'm done listening to this. There's nothing you can say.” She turned her back on the two men and marched out of the room.

“Pop, is there anything you can do?” Phil asked.

“This is your fight, kiddo,” Mr Coulson said apologetically. After a moment, he asked, “Is this Natasha the friend who needed legal advice?” Phil nodded. “Did it help?”

“Yeah, it did.”

“I'm glad.” He patted his son on the shoulder. “Get some rest.”

Phil ran into Jen outside the front door of the bungalow. She took one look at him and said, “Shit. Worse than you expected?”

Phil laughed humorlessly. “No, it was pretty much exactly as bad as I expected.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fuck, I just want to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head.”

“Nope. We're going to the staff area.”

“I don't think I'm up for that.”

“I don't think you have a choice. Unless you want Clint to hear about it from someone else and drive himself crazy worrying about you.”

“Okay, point,” Phil agreed with a groan.

“And maybe while we're there, you can let Tony apologize. I'm so sorry, Phil. It never occurred to me that he would say something in front of the family. I should have warned him.”

“It's not your fault, Jen. And hell, I guess that means it's not Stark's either.”

She linked her arm through his and leaned her head on his shoulder. “If you need a break from being all sensible and want to get irrationally angry, I promise I won't tell.”

Reluctantly, Phil laughed. “Thanks. I'll keep that in mind.”

Clint, Natasha, and Bucky were standing on the porch of their cabin when Jen and Phil approached. Clint jumped down the stairs and pulled Phil into his arms. “Are you okay?” he murmured in Phil's ear.

“Yes. No. Shit.” To his horror, Phil felt tears gathering in the back of his throat.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“God, no.”

“Okay. I have an idea.” Clint handed Phil over to Natasha, who hugged him and guided him to sit on the top step between her and Jen. Phil was kind of squashed but didn't object – it was oddly comforting. Bucky looked at them quizzically, shrugged, then sat close up against Natasha's other side.

Clint returned with his guitar and settled on the other end of the steps. He'd played for Phil before, but not without a lot of wheedling on Phil's part.

More people joined them slowly, drawn by the music or the group hug. Phil hadn't even had a conversation with some of them, but he accepted their comfort nonetheless. Even Tony, who came over once the dinner shift was over.

Tony stood sad-eyed at the bottom of the steps, clearly sure he was unwelcome. Phil caught his eye and nodded with a small smile; Jen held out her free arm and Tony curled up against her legs.

When Clint started to get hoarse, he set the guitar aside and made grabby hands at the group. They obligingly shifted until he could squirm in between Natasha and Phil. Being in Clint's arms, surrounded by friends, Phil was able to relax enough that he was halfway asleep when Jen nudged him and suggested they get back to their cabin.

“Yeah, better not give Ma any more ammunition.” Phil grimaced mid-yawn. “So to speak.” He wasn't really sure what to say to the people who had gathered, how to thank them, but it was late enough that they'd mostly drifted away. He kissed Clint goodnight and followed his sister back to their side of the resort.


	12. Birthday Presents

The following few days were a stalemate between Phil and his mother. The older Coulson girls didn't want to take sides, which was reasonable. Unfortunately, that translated into them mostly ignoring Phil. Even that would have been fine – and not particularly out of the ordinary – but Phil was trying to spend more time with the family in a show of good faith. It made for a lonely couple of days.

At the end of the second-to-last week of the summer session, Phil turned 19.

Mrs Coulson unbent enough to wish her only son happy birthday. Somehow, that was more depressing than anything else.

Dinner that night had been planned far in advance. Phil didn't like being the center of attention at the best of times; doing so now was almost unbearable. But he plastered a smile on his face for the benefit of his nieces and nephews, who'd made him cards and presents.

After dinner, the wait staff brought out a huge cake and serenaded Phil. Tony led the singing. His own forced cheer pushed him even more exuberantly off-key than usual. Phil considered that the highlight of the evening.

By the time Phil was able to escape to his cabin, he was exhausted and emotionally drained. He threw himself face down on his bed, determined to ignore the world (and everyone in it) for as long as possible.

That lasted about five minutes. He rolled over, grabbed his phone, and texted Clint.

 **Phil:** _Can I come over?_

 **Clint:** _ofc_

Clint's response was immediate. Phil felt guilty for basically ignoring Clint since his family drama started. He just hoped Clint would understand – apologizing to his mother for sneaking around didn't mean much if he kept doing it all the time.

He would just have to find a way to make it up to Clint. With that in mind, he hopped up the cabin's front steps, grabbed Clint by the shirtfront, and kissed him as deeply as he could. Clint made a surprised sound but quickly got into the spirit. Their kisses were hot and wet and filthy, like they had been apart for months instead of days. They only broke away when oxygen deprivation became a serious concern.

“Wow,” Clint panted, “happy birthday to me.”

Phil smiled back helplessly. “Missed you.”

“Missed you, too. Come on in. I have something for you.” Clint pushed himself off the wall and bowed theatrically to the passing crowd of evening shift staff who'd been catcalling. He guided Phil inside with a flourish.

“You didn't have to get me anything,” Phil protested.

“Yeah, I kinda didn't.” Clint rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and gestured to the coffee table with the other. “Jasper snagged it for me this afternoon.” On a plate from the dining room sat a chocolate cupcake with a single candle.

Phil was charmed almost beyond words. “I...that's really great.”

They sat down on the couch with the plate between them. Clint lit the candle. “Happy birthday, Phil.”

“Thank you.” They leaned in and kissed softly before Phil blew out the candle. He set the plate aside and moved over to straddle Clint's lap.

Everything slowed down as they explored each other thoroughly. Clint slid his hands under Phil's shirt and up his sides. Phil squirmed under the tickling touch and the friction caused them to break their kiss with a gasp.

“Wanna see you,” Clint said huskily as he pulled Phil's shirt off. “So gorgeous.”

Part of Phil's brain wanted to argue. But looking down into Clint's hungry, lust-blown eyes, for the first time in his life he really felt gorgeous.

Clint's callused fingertips stroked over the planes of Phil's chest, then circled and gently pinched his nipples. Phil arched his back and rolled his hips into Clint's. He was so hard it was verging on painful.

Phil suddenly realized what he wanted. Saying it out loud was daunting, so he leaned down to whisper in Clint's ear. “I want you to fuck me 'til I can't remember anything but you.”

Clint froze. His hands tightened on Phil's hips hard enough to leave faint bruises. “Really?” he rasped.

“Hell yes.” Now that Phil had admitted it, he was desperate. He cupped the bulge in Clint's pants, squeezed, rubbed. “Wanna feel you inside me. Please.”

“So polite,” Clint teased. He stood up, dumping Phil off his lap. “Bedroom. Now.”

Phil never would have guessed that he'd get off on being ordered around. But his shuddering reaction to the note of command in Clint's voice was unmistakeable. Clint's sharp eyes narrowed in consideration. “Strip and get on the bed, on your back.”

The position – prone and naked while Clint was still fully clothed – made Phil feel incredibly vulnerable. He tried to relax and was mostly successful, though his cock seemed to have developed a mind of its own. Clint watched it twitch with a knowing smirk.

“Do you trust me?” Phil's nod wasn't good enough, because Clint continued, “I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes, I trust you.”

“Are you gonna do what I say?”

“Yes.”

“Just one more thing. I need you to promise that if you get uncomfortable, even a little bit, you tell me to stop. 'Cause I'm trusting you, too.”

“I promise.” Phil was pretty sure he had cartoon hearts in his eyes. He was also pretty sure he didn't care.

“Okay then,” Clint said. He finally, finally started to undress. His movements were slow, but deliberate rather than teasing. “Put your hands over your head and leave them there.”

Phil sighed happily when Clint joined him on the bed. It felt like he was floating as Clint proceeded to map every inch of his skin with hands and lips. He was more turned on than he'd ever been, yet at the same time, he was content to lie there and let himself be worshiped.

Some unknown amount of time later, Clint guided Phil's legs up until his feet were flat on the bed, then he slipped a pillow under Phil's hips. He kissed and nuzzled around the base of Phil's cock and his balls. Very slowly, very gently, he slid one well-lubed finger deep into Phil's ass.

Phil hummed, questioning and not entirely happy. Clint halted immediately. “You okay?”

It took a moment for Phil to find his voice. “Yeah,” he said with an embarrassed chuckle. “It's just...a little weird. I'm good, keep going.”

Clint stroked his finger in and out as Phil gradually relaxed around him. When Phil was ready, Clint added a second finger. Phil made the same humming sound that was choked off when Clint crooked his fingers.

Sudden, shocking pleasure sizzled through Phil. “Holy shit,” he gasped, eyed wide, “do that again.” Clint's soft, sly laugh in response was impossibly sexy.

Clint worked Phil open and took him apart with constant, featherlight touches to his prostate. Phil begged and cursed incoherently as the pleasure built until he was riding the edge of pain. Then Clint closed his lips around the head of Phil's dick and sucked hard. Phil screamed as he came. His entire body convulsed and he sobbed, overcome.

It took several moments for Phil to be lucid again. The first thing he noticed was the increased fullness; Clint was thrusting with three fingers and carefully avoiding Phil's overstimulated prostate. Without really knowing it was going to happen before it did, Phil started to laugh.

“What's so funny?” Clint asked with an indulgent smile.

“I don't know,” Phil admitted. “You're just really, really awesome. I didn't know my body could do that.”

“Pretty cool, huh? Just wait 'til the next one.”

Phil groaned. “Might be waiting a while. Kinda feels like I'm never gonna get it up again.”

Clint's tone was deceptively conversational. “Babe, you're nineteen. I have faith in your recovery time. Soon, I'm gonna be balls-deep in your ass, fucking it out of you.”

And that was all it took. Phil's blood rushed south so fast it made him light-headed. Clint took pity on him and stopped teasing. He eased his fingers out (and Phil resolutely did not whimper at the loss – Clint's fingers were the best thing he'd ever felt but next would be Clint's cock and Phil was really, really looking forward to that) and prepped himself.

Phil took a deep, steadying breath as Clint lined up and began to push in. Muscles gave sweetly at the intrusion, pressure and stretch and a deep feeling of fullness but nothing remotely like pain.

Clint held still when he was completely sheathed in Phil's body. He braced himself on his arms and asked again, “You okay?”

“I'm good,” Phil said fervently, “so, so good.” He wiggled his hips experimentally and was rewarded with an honest-to-god growl from Clint.

“Stop that! Or this is gonna be over really fast.”

Phil grinned in challenge. “I like fast.”

Clint gave him a considering look and Phil knew he was in trouble. Marvelous, orgasm-inducing trouble. “Don't move,” Clint reminded him, then set about rearranging their position on the bed. Phil ended up with his hips tilted way up and supported on Clint's thighs. He had one leg hooked around Clint's waist and the other pulled up over Clint's shoulder. He wasn't uncomfortable, but he did feel a little ridiculous.

Clint rocked his hips, more grinding than thrusting. Phil raised his eyebrows. “This isn't very fa- _cking hell_!” With a tiny adjustment, Clint was pressing firmly on that most sensitive spot. At the same time, he wrapped his hand around Phil's neglected cock and stroked in the same rhythm. Phil froze, eyes and mouth open, strung out on pleasure more intense than he'd ever dreamed of. Then his brain shorted out and he went off like a rocket.

Clint kept at it until Phil was done coming his brains out. Phil lay limp and sated under the other man, motionless except for the occasional shudder of an aftershock. Clint shifted back to being stretched out over Phil. They were sealed together in some places with sweat and come, but Phil didn't care. It was worth it to be able to feel Clint down the entire length of his body. “My turn now,” Clint muttered in his ear.

“God, yes,” Phil agreed.

Clint began fucking into him in earnest. His thrusts were deep and hard and fast. Phil was already overloaded with sensation but he loved every second of it, even more so when Clint gasped, “Touch me.” Phil clung with arms and legs until Clint's hips stuttered and he came with Phil's name on his lips like a prayer.

They sprawled together with their limbs intertwined. “'m squashing you,” Clint said after a while.

“I like it.” Phil tightened his hold. Clint hummed happily and didn't argue. They actually dozed off in that position, though only for a few minutes. Phil did have to breathe.

They had to peel apart when Clint rolled away, which was equal parts gross and hilarious. Clint had also softened enough that the condom snapped back on him and sprayed jizz and lube everywhere. “Aw, condom, no,” Clint muttered, which struck Phil as uproariously funny (he got a good-natured smack on the flank for his laughter). Despite the mess, they were too worn out to do more than the most cursory clean-up before burrowing under the covers and falling asleep.

Phil woke shortly before dawn. He couldn't stomach the idea of putting on even yesterday's dirty clothes without taking a shower first. He eased out of bed and padded naked to the bathroom, grabbing his clothes on the way.

He returned to Clint's room to kiss the archer goodbye before he left. Clint mumbled something unintelligible and buried his face in the pillow.


	13. Another Discovery

The morning was still and hushed. Phil was surprised to see Tony Stark coming towards him on the path to the main resort areas. “Good morning,” Tony greeted, then added slyly, “did you have a pleasant night?”

“Like you wouldn't believe,” Phil answered with a bland smile. “What are you doing out this early?”

Tony made a face. “The SI board members are here for some corporate thing. They have a tee time at the asscrack of dawn and Dad's insisting I go along and make nice.”

“Sounds like you'd rather be somewhere else.”

“The most boring activity that ever tried to pass itself off as a sport, plus a totally unreasonable hour of the day? I'd rather be anywhere else.” Phil chuckled. Tony was quiet for a moment, then said, “Honestly, I'd rather be back in Boston finishing my dissertation than anywhere near here.”

Phil cocked his head. Like most of the summer staff, Tony appeared to be typical college age, not much older than Phil himself. Too young to be working on a PhD. “What's your degree in?”

“Mechanical engineering. And applied robotics.”

“Wow, that's heavy stuff. You're doing all that together?”

“Um, no, not together, just...simultaneously. I mean, they're two different programs, I'm just doing them at the same time.”

Phil was stunned. He blurted the first thing that popped into his head (which, if he'd thought at all, he would have realized was dumb). “Your dad must be really proud.”

The look Tony gave him was a marvel of disdain. “Yeah, right. 'Academia is for people who are too lazy to work for a living.' Or how about, 'Starks are self-made men, and self-made men don't need advanced degrees.' I'm sure I can think of more if you want.”

“Yeah, no. I'm sorry. That sucks.”

Tony shrugged and suddenly got self-conscious, like maybe he hadn't meant to reveal so much to someone he barely knew. “It is what it is. And hey, all the strings get cut when I turn 25, so I only have to deal with his bullshit for a few more years. Listen, I'll catch you later, okay?”

Phil stood at the place where the path forked and watched the other man walk away. He'd always thought of himself as a good judge of character, but the summer was proving to be eye-opening in a really uncomfortable way. He'd totally misread Clint, and now Tony as well.

He managed to get a few hours of sleep but still felt like a zombie for the rest of the morning. (It wasn't all bad – he smelled like Clint's bodywash. That triggered some really pleasant sense-memories that had him staring dreamily into space.)

Breakfast lost out to more sleep, so Phil was starving by lunchtime. He was walking into the dining room when Jasper barreled out of the kitchen, grabbed him by the arm, and steered him into a quiet stretch of hallway. Before Phil had time to do more than look at him funny, Jasper hissed, “Clint's been fired.”

“What? Why?”

“I don't know. It happened sometime this morning. Stark called Clint into his office and told him to pack up and get off the property.”

“Shit. Is he still here?”

“No idea,” Jasper said with a helpless shrug. “Nobody here’s seen him.”

“Thanks, man.” Phil squeezed Jasper's shoulder before dashing out the door onto the lawn.

He slowed down when the staff area came into sight. Clint's beat-to-hell truck was parked in front of his cabin. As Phil approached, Clint came out with a box balanced on one hand and a duffel bag in the other. He tossed them both into the half-full bed of his truck.

“Hey!” Phil called out.

Clint turned with a complicated expression of relief and regret and sorrow. “Hey, yourself,” he responded with a sigh. “Guess you heard.”

“Jasper said you got fired. What the hell is going on?”

“Stark found out I'm having an inappropriate relationship with a guest.”

All the strength ran out of Phil's legs and he sagged against the side of the truck. “It's because of me?”

“Shit, no.” Clint forced a smile. “Not unless you're the one who told my boss about us. He usually looks the other way with things like this, but not this time.”

Phil frowned. “He can't just randomly decide to enforce rules like that.”

“Pretty sure he can and he did,” Clint said tiredly. “It's right there in the employee contract. If I leave quietly, I'll still get my tournament bonus.”

“There's gotta be something we can do, some way to fight this –”

“No!” Clint snapped. “I am so goddamned sick and tired of having to fight for every scrap of respect I get from people. I need a fresh start, I've known that for a while. Didn't exactly plan on doing it with absolutely nothing, but hell, it's not like it's the first time.”

Phil opened his mouth, then closed it when he realized he had no idea what to say. He looked pleadingly at Clint, but the other man refused to meet his eyes. They might have stayed like that, locked in an impasse, all afternoon. But they were interrupted by the arrival of Tony Stark.

“Clint, man, I'm glad I caught you,” he panted. “I'm sorry, I had no idea he'd react like this. I tried to talk him down but he wouldn't listen.”

“Wait a second,” Clint growled. “You did this?”

“I was just making conversation! He usually knows about shit like this, makes jokes about it. But he was golfing with some of the old men on the board and they had a different opinion, got upset. I didn't mean for this to happen, I swear.”

Clint shook his head. “I can't believe this. You told your dad, my boss, that I'm screwing around with a guest, why? Because you were bored? Not getting enough of daddy's attention?”

“Hey, you can't blame me for this.” Tony's expression darkened. “You're the one who couldn't keep it in his pants.”

“You are such a fucking hypocrite.” Without any further warning, Clint lashed out and punched Tony in the face.

The smaller man went down hard. He touched his rapidly-swelling lip and blinked at the blood that came off on his fingers. When he finally spoke, his voice was quietly vicious. “I never bought your working class hero routine. You're trash, Barton. Getting used and thrown away is what you deserve.”

Clint took a step forward with his fists clenched. Phil grabbed him. “Please,” he begged softly, “don't make this worse.”

Tony pushed himself to his feet and gave them a look of contempt that didn't quite mask the desperate apology underneath. He turned and stalked away.

Clint shook off Phil's hand. His shoulders slumped into a posture of utter defeat. “I'll be at the house in the village. God, I don't know how I'm going to tell Natasha.” His eye flicked briefly to Phil's, then away again. “I'll talk to you soon, okay?”

_No_ , Phil wanted to scream, _stay with me, let me help you_. But he just nodded and balled his hands into fists to keep from reaching out. Clint clearly didn't want anything from him.

As soon as Clint's truck was out of sight, Phil marched straight to his parents' bungalow. They were just returning from lunch. “Oh good, I was about to call you,” Mr Coulson said, puzzled and concerned. “Not five minutes after you disappeared, Mr Stark came over to our table. He seemed to think it was very important that we know that your friend the archery instructor was let go this morning. What's going on?”

“Mr Stark fired him because Clint was involved in a sexual relationship with a guest. A male guest.” He swallowed hard. “With me.”

His confession was met with absolute, stunned silence. Unnerved, Phil plowed ahead. “It's not wrongful termination because the rule's been there forever, but I really think he's got a good argument for discrimination. Staff members hook up with guests all the time, it's common knowledge, but nobody's ever gotten even reprimanded before. It can't be a coincidence that it happened this time when it's two guys. Clint's too shaken up and won't talk about it but I have to do something, it's all my fault.”

“Oh, Phil,” Mrs Coulson said in a choked whisper. She crossed the room and gathered her son into a hug that threatened to crush his ribs. “I am so, so sorry, baby. I never meant to make you feel like there were things you couldn't tell me. My behavior these past couple of days has been awful and I hope you can forgive me.”

She took a deep breath and continued. “I can't promise I'll ever be okay with the idea of you with any kind of weapon, but that's my problem to deal with. You're a grown man, a good man, and I have to trust you.”

“You know we support you no matter what, right?” Phil's father added.

Phil gave a watery chuckle and rolled his eyes. “Considering how much you guys hope Maggie and Meg are sleeping together, I really never thought you'd be freaked out by the gay thing. It just never felt right to talk about it. I don't know why.”

“It doesn't matter,” Mrs Coulson said fiercely. “You don't owe us any kind of explanation. We're just happy you trust us enough to share this with us.”

“Thank you,” Phil whispered. Overcome, he dropped his forehead down onto his mother's shoulder. She held him for a few minutes, rocking gently, as his dad patted him on the back.

Mrs Coulson maneuvered them onto the couch, then wiped her own face and her son's. “All right,” she announced, “let's talk about the situation your young man is in.”

Phil scrunched up his face against his blush. It was oddly comforting to have his mother acting exactly the way he thought she would. Before he could reply, his stomach rumbled loud enough for the whole room to hear.

“Goodness, I forgot you missed lunch,” Mrs Coulson exclaimed. “John, go see what Mina left in the kitchen. I'm sure she's got stuff for when the boys get hungry.”

Mr Coulson made a face that, on someone who wasn't a dignified man in his sixties, might be considered a pout. “But there's going to be legal discussion.”

“Excuse me, which one of us spent her entire career dealing in civil rights law? Go make your son a sandwich.”

“Yes, dear,” he replied with an overdramatic sigh and a wink at Phil as he left the room.

They called a family meeting that night after the kids were in bed. With Phil's permission, Mr and Mrs Coulson briefed everyone on what was happening with Clint. Mostly it was because they discussed just about everything as a family. However, there was also a very real chance that things could get awkward for the last week of their vacation and they didn't want anyone walking into that situation blind.

It wasn't as mortifying as Phil had feared. The fact that he was in a relationship with a man was a necessary part of the story, but his parents didn't make a big deal out of it. The collective reaction from his sisters and their various partners was a metaphorical shrug.

(Carina did insist that her baby brother was not old enough to be in a relationship with anyone and she really didn't want to know about it if he was. Maggie and Meg had a quick conversation that consisted entirely of slight changes in facial expression. This resulted in Maggie exclaiming, “Wait, we're talking about that impossibly hot archer guy? The one with the arms and the ass and the –” She was cut off by literally everyone else yelling at her to shut up.)


	14. Legal Advice Redux

Phil texted Clint the next day, but he didn't respond and his phone went straight to voicemail. After trying for most of the day, Phil finally had to enlist Natasha's help. She invited him and his parents to her house in the village and promised to make sure Clint stayed put. Phil hated the idea of basically ambushing Clint, but Natasha sensibly pointed out that Clint hadn't left them any other choice.

To his credit, Clint was surprised but not unhappy to find Phil on the doorstep. He was shocked to see Phil's parents, though, and gobsmacked when they both hugged him despite never having been introduced.

They sat uncomfortably in a living room that was too small for six adults. Natasha and Bucky offered to give them privacy, but Clint pointed out that they were his family and he could use their support.

Phil listened quietly as his mother outlined what they knew of the situation. Clint couldn't seem to decided if he was annoyed or embarrassed, but he answered the questions politely enough. “I appreciate that you're trying to help me, Mrs Coulson,” he said after a while, “but I don't think there's anything to do about it. It's not like I didn't know I was breaking the rules. Maybe it's best if I just try to forget about it and move on.”

“First of all, please call me Mary Alice. If I'm Mrs Coulson, then you'll have to be Mr Barton, and I don't think that's going to make this easier for anybody. Second, how we proceed, if we proceed, is entirely up to you. But you need to understand that you do have grounds for a case of discrimination and wrongful termination.”

“Really? How?”

“A policy that doesn’t apply to everyone is not a legitimate policy. Management can't enforce it for some people but not others. That's the discrimination, obviously, but that's also why it's wrongful termination. If nobody's been fired on these grounds before, they can't use that argument to fire you. You see?”

Clint looked thoughtful for a moment, but then his face fell again. “I get it, I think. But even if that would stand up in court, I don't think I can do it. I mean, an actual trial and everything. I'm sorry.”

“You never need to apologize for taking care of yourself and knowing what you can and can't handle,” Mrs Coulson assured him. Phil ducked his head to hide a smile at his mother's familiar words.

“There's a good chance it won't come to that.” Mr Coulson spoke up for the first time. “I did some consulting for Stark Industries about a year ago that involved working pretty close with Howard Stark. Much as I hate to say it, the man is a bully.”

“And a lot of the time, bullies will back down if confronted,” finished Mrs Coulson with no small amount of satisfaction. “All we're asking is that you let us set up a meeting with Stark and his lawyers. I'm willing to bet that the threat of a lawsuit will be enough to have the man begging to settle.”

“To be clear,” Natasha said cautiously, “you're proposing to bluff Howard Stark?”

“In essence, yes.”

Natasha's grin had far too many teeth. “Sounds good to me.”

Clint looked at each of them in turn. “Okay,” he agreed reluctantly, “let's do it.”

The Coulsons left as soon as they'd worked out the logistics of the meeting with Stark. Phil couldn't think of a way to hang back and talk to Clint without making a big deal out of it. (He was also worried that Clint didn't want to talk to him at all; the last thing he wanted to do was humiliate himself.)

Phil made an attempt not to mope for the three days before the meeting, though according to Jen, he failed miserably. He gave Clint space and and waited for the other man to initiate contact.

Clint never did.

He arrived at the Coulson's bungalow on the designated afternoon wearing the same clothes he'd worn to the welcome banquet. He was fidgety and adorable. Within minutes, he'd pulled his tie – not great to begin with – completely askew.

“May I?” Phil asked softly.

Clint dropped his hands with a helpless sound. “Yes, please.”

Phil worked in silence for a moment, then cleared his throat and said, “I know how hard this is. I just wanted to say that I am so, so proud of you.”

“You are?”

“Yeah.” Phil smoothed his hand down the length of Clint's (perfectly knotted) tie. He smiled, trying to put everything he was feeling into that one look.

Clint reached up and pressed Phil's hand against his chest. “Phil, I –”

“All right, time to go,” Mrs Coulson announced as she breezed into the room.

Phil stepped out of the way. “Good luck in there.”

“Wait, you're not coming?” Clint looked like he was on the verge of panic.

Phil turned pleading eyes on his mother, who sighed. “Fine. Bring a legal pad and try to look official. Grab a tie and catch up with us.”

“Yes, ma'am!” Phil answered smartly, earning himself an eye-roll. He was already wearing slacks and a button-down shirt in the vague hope that he'd be allowed to tag along.

Their meeting was held in one of the conference rooms in the resort's main building. Phil couldn't decide if that was a good sign or not – Stark could have insisted that they meet at his company's headquarters in Manhattan.

Stark was waiting for them, along with three men who could have come off the same production line. On the other side of the lawyers, wearing an uncharacteristically solemn expression, was Tony. (For his part, Phil was grateful for Tony's presence. It made his own far less questionable.)

It only took a few minutes for Mrs Coulson to go through the complaint. Phil pretended to take notes. Most of his mind was occupied with the admiration he always felt when his mother went into avenging justice mode. The rest was focused on the fact that the first thing Clint had done after sitting down was slip his hand into Phil's under the table.

“That's a fine story, but I don't see how you're going to prove any of it,” Mr Stark said smugly.

“There are several staff members who can testify regarding prior relationships with guests.”

“Oh, please. Even if they would, which I highly doubt, how are you going to prove that I knew about any of it? Who's going to testify to that?”

“I will.” Everyone in the room pivoted to look at Tony, who stared impassively back. “I'll testify.”

“Stay out of this,” Mr Stark growled.

“I just don't understand why you're doing this,” Tony continued, talking directly to his father now. “Setting aside the fact that this whole situation is bullshit and you know it – are you really willing to risk so much bad publicity just to appease some homophobic assholes on the board?”

“You don't know what the hell you're talking about.”

“Oh, come off it, Dad. Older female guests seducing the summer staff is practically a tradition around here. You joke about it, call them 'bungalow bunnies.' Do you really think anyone's going to come back here after they hear that?”

Stark's face was dull red and a vein was throbbing in his forehead. “So help me, boy, I will cut you off without a cent.”

“Go ahead.” Tony sat back in his chair, still serious but with an unmistakable air of satisfaction. “You're the one who insisted I get away from the ivory tower sometimes. I can support myself just fine for a few years. And just think of how that will play in the press – cutting off your only son's education to prove a really stupid point.”

There was silence for a few charged moments. Finally, Mr Coulson said, “Phil, Tony, would you wait outside please? You don't need to be party to any nondisclosure agreements that might be discussed.”

Phil nodded and squeezed Clint's hand before letting go. He managed not to grin like an idiot until he and Tony had closed the door behind themselves.

“Oh my god,” Tony said faintly.

“Oh my god,” Phil agreed with a laugh. “You are insane”

“No, just trying to be an adult for once.” Tony held his hands up. They were shaking. “I don't think I like it.”

“You were fantastic.”

“I'm sorry I got you guys in trouble, and I'm really sorry my dad's being a dick.”

Phil shook his head. “Even if any of this were your fault – which it's not – I think you more than made up for it just now.”

“Thanks, man.” Tony held out his hand. Phil shook it, then figured to hell with it and pulled him into a brief hug. Tony accepted it but looked deeply embarrassed when Phil let go. “So do you think they're going to be in there a while?”

“Probably. Why?”

“Want to go raid the kitchen for some ice cream?”

Phil grinned. “Absolutely.”

As expected, the meeting took several more hours. Phil and Tony camped out in the hallway with their tablets and ridiculously giant sundaes.

“You shouldn't be allowed to use Russian,” Phil muttered as he lost to Natasha at Words With Friends for the third straight time. (He was alternating that with losing to Jen, but he was used to his sister beating him.)

Tony glanced up from the complicated schematics he'd tried to explain to Phil earlier. “Dude, maybe you should try a different game, this is getting pathetic.”

“Thanks,” Phil said sarcastically. “I don't see you trying to –” He broke off as the conference room door swung open. Both guys scrambled to their feet.

The Coulsons still wore their calm-and-impassive lawyer faces but Clint looked shellshocked. “We'll see you two back at the room,” Mrs Coulson said. “Don't be long; we're going to get dinner in town.”

Clint looked at Phil for a long moment, then turned to Tony. “I don't know what to say.”

Tony grimaced. “I was just trying to make things right. Did it work?”

“Yeah, it did.”

“Good. That's good. I'm glad.” With a nod, Tony walked away.

“So, we should go,” Clint said tentatively.

“Right.” Phil kept stealing sidelong glances at Clint as they walked. Halfway across the lawn, he stopped. “I'm not sorry.”

“About what?” Clint seemed genuinely confused.

“You told me to stay out of it. Instead of respecting your wishes, I went straight to my parents and got them involved too. But I'm not sorry, even if you never want to speak to me again.”

Clint opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before he found the words. “Not speak to you? Phil, you've done more for me in the past month than anyone has my whole damned life. I know I don't deserve you but I'm not stupid enough not to appreciate it.”

“You're not mad?”

“Oh, for fuck's sake!” Clint gestured wildly, which didn't quite distract Phil from the fact that his eyes were damp. “I don't know what to do with you. Your parents came in and treated me like I _matter_. Do you have any idea how rare that is?”

“But you do matter,” Phil said.

Clint's answering laugh was halfway to a sob. “See, that's what I mean. You've basically changed my life and somehow you still don't get it.” He reached out and cupped Phil's face in his hands. “Thank you. Thank you for sticking by me even when I was pushing you away. Thank you for everything.”

The only possible response Phil could have was to wrap his arms around Clint and kiss the breath out of him. That sweet, gentle kiss turned into several, and they lost track of time standing in the sunshine on the main lawn of the resort.

Finally, Phil made himself pull back until their foreheads were resting together. “I forgot to ask how the meeting turned out. Did Stark agree to settle?”

Clint smiled, bashful and disbelieving. “Yeah. I can't talk about the details, but it looks like I'll actually be able to take some time to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life.”

“That's awesome. I knew it would work out.”

“You know what?” Clint took a deep breath. “I think you're right.”


	15. Back to the Real World

**Phil:** _My housemates think I look different._

**Clint:** _like what?_

**Phil:** _Melinda thinks it's my walk._

**Clint:** _dont recognize the phil coulson badass sex god strut?_

**Phil:** _Very funny._

**Phil:** _Nobody ever would have described me like that. Maybe that's why. :)_

**Clint:** _people r dumb_

**Clint:** _always been 2 sexy for this song_

**Phil:** _Damn it, now I'm going to have that stuck in my head all day._

**Clint:** _sry :( me 2_

>>>>>>

**from: amazinghawkeye@gmail.com**   
**to: pjcoulson@gwu.edu**   
**re: Tony?!**

What the hell is up with Tony Stark? Nat said he told his dad to shove it & disappeared.

 

**from: pjcoulson@gwu.edu**   
**to: amazinghawkeye@gmail.com**   
**re: Tony?!**

He didn't disappear and I refuse to believe Natasha told you he did.

He did sever ties with his dad, though. He's in CA now – one of his profs in Boston knew someone at Stanford who could use a grad assistant. He’s doing that part-time and also working as a mechanic.

Why aren't you talking to Tony directly? He pokes me all the time on Facebook, moaning about the MBA student he's got a thing for who won't give him the time of day. (Smart girl!)

 

**from: amazinghawkeye@gmail.com**   
**to: pjcoulson@gwu.edu**   
**re: Tony?!**

to awkward

& I hate facebook

 

**from: pjcoulson@gwu.edu**   
**to: amazinghawkeye@gmail.com**   
**re: Tony?!**

*poke*

>>>>>>

**Clint:** _hey how did the tourny go?_

**Clint:** _come on gotta be done by now_

**Clint:** _phil?_

**Phil:** _Sorry couldnt hear phone_

**Clint:** _there you are_

**Clint:** _its ok_

**Phil:** _tourney was great tied for 1st_

**Phil:** _mite be a little drunk_

**Clint:** _knew you could do it_

**Clint:** _just get home safe ok?_

**Clint:** _drink alot of water_

**Phil:** _miss you_

**Clint:** _miss u 2 babe_

**Phil:** _nooooooo you only call me that when your fucking me_

**Phil:** _tipsyhorny better than grumpyhorny but still lonely & sucks_

**Phil:** _shit_

**Phil:** _pls delete_

>>>>>>

**Phil:** _Merry Christmas_

**Clint:** _merry xmas 2 u 2_

**Clint:** _say hi to your fam 4 me?_

**Phil:** _Of course. How are Natasha and Bucky?_

**Clint:** _crazier than usual_

**Clint:** _they decided to tour the country – bought a rv & everything_

**Phil:** _Pics or it didn't happen._

**Clint:** [img]

**Phil:** _Wow._

**Clint:** _nat named it bessie_

**Phil:** _So what are you doing?_

**Clint:** _fixing up the house to sell_

**Clint:** _not sure what comes next_

>>>>>>

**from: pjcoulson@gwu.edu**   
**to: amazinghawkeye@gmail.com**   
**re: winter sucks**

I hate DC in January. We don't even get real snow, just this gray slushy shit. I slid on some ice this morning and didn't have time to go back home before class. Had to sit through macroeconomics in torn pants and wet underwear.

You should come visit.

 

**from: amazinghawkeye@gmail.com**   
**to: pjcoulson@gwu.edu**   
**re: winter sucks**

Wow you really know how to sell an idea. How could I refuse? :)

 

**from: pjcoulson@gwu.edu**   
**to: amazinghawkeye@gmail.com**   
**re: winter sucks**

I'm serious.

 

**from: amazinghawkeye@gmail.com**   
**to: pjcoulson@gwu.edu**   
**re: winter sucks**

I know. And I'm really glad you asked.

 

Phil spent the entire afternoon obsessing over Clint's latest email.

They'd been in regular contact since they'd seen each other last. They chatted about inconsequential things like any friends would. In five months, the only time either of them referred to the fact that they'd ever been more than that was Phil's drunk confession back in October. Clint had obligingly never mentioned it.

And then Phil had to go and ruin their easy rapport.

He didn't know why he'd stuck an invitation at the end of a whiny rant about the weather. But he'd been cold and out-of-sorts. Missing Clint was a physical ache in his chest.

It was late afternoon on a Friday. Jen was out, Melinda was getting ready to go out, and Phil and Nick were sitting in the living room with their laptops. (Friday nights were for pizza, beer, bad movies, and World of Warcraft.)

Phil was still staring at his email. Clint's message was oddly cryptic and he'd been offline ever since. It almost sounded like the beginning of a polite refusal and eventual brush-off. Something that might end with “thanks but no thanks.”

“You're not listening to me at all, are you?”

“What?” Phil looked over at Nick, who sighed.

“It's bad enough that Mel won't bring her boy over for Warcraft night. I'm not gonna lose you to this Barton guy when he's not even here.”

Phil forced a smile. “You're not losing me. And Melinda will be back. You know how she gets – she'll focus on whipping our asses into shape until suddenly it's four in the morning. Pretty sure she and Sam are still in that phase where they'd rather have sex.”

Nick, asexual and proud, humphed. Melinda had met Sam Wilson in their ROTC program that fall, when she had been assigned to be the freshman's student mentor. Mel was very mindful of her leadership role; she studiously ignored the fact that he worshiped the ground she walked on until her duties were over at the end of the semester. They'd been inseparable ever since. Phil thought it was adorable. Nick disagreed.

“You'd better be right about that,” Nick muttered. “Dating people who take you away from your friends instead of joining them. Fuck that.”

Just then, two things happened – Phil's phone buzzed and there was a knock on the front door.

“I'm coming!” Melinda called from upstairs. Nick was still muttering to himself, but Phil wasn't paying attention. He was staring at his phone in disbelief.

Melinda paused in the doorway to the living room. “Don't bother getting up,” she said sarcastically.

“What?” Nick demanded. “He's your boyfriend.”

“Doesn't mean you couldn't get the damned door,” she snapped over her shoulder.

Voices in the hall – more than two – then Melinda was back. “Phil?” she prompted.

He finally dragged his eyes away from the text message on his phone's screen.

**Clint:** _knock knock_

Clint was there, following Melinda into the room, awkward and adorable and _there_. “Hi,” he said softly.

There wasn't enough air in the room. Phil said the first thing that popped into his head, inane as it was. “I didn't know you knew Sam.:

“Who's Sam?” Clint asked with a puzzled frown.

“That's me,” the man in question piped up over Clint's shoulder. “Hey, Sam Wilson, nice to meet you.” He stuck out his hand, which Clint shook. To Phil, he added, “We just got here at the same time.”

“Oh.” Suddenly remembering his manners, Phil scrambled to his his feet. “Clint, these are my housemates, Melinda May and Nick Fury. Guys, this is Clint Barton.”

Clint gave them the charming grin that never failed to make Phil's insides melt. Nick and Melinda just nodded, unimpressed.

“What are you doing here?” Phil asked, breathless.

“I came to see you.” Clint bit his bottom lip and ducked his head. “You said it was okay.”

“Yeah, of course. Just wasn't expecting it to happen quite this soon.”

Clint grimaced. “Heh. Yeah, that's kind of a long story. Is there someplace we can go to talk?”

“Sure.” Phil looked down at his ratty sweats, then back up at Clint's coat and knit cap, which were sparkling with melting sleet from outside. “Let me change, then we can –”

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Nick interrupted. He closed his computer with a snap and stood. “I'm going to Banner's. You guys stay here and talk.”

Within minutes, he, Melinda, and Sam were on their way out the door. Nick paused as he passed Clint and asked suspiciously, “Do you play World of Warcraft?”

“...yes?”

“Good.”

Once they were alone, Clint turned to Phil. “Is it totally wrong that I want to salute and called him 'sir'?”

“He has that effect on people,” Phil said with a nervous laugh. “I'm sorry about them.”

Clint grinned back. “Hey, you've met my best friends, the scary Russians, remember? It's cool.”

Phil took Clint's coat and hat and hung them up in the hall closet. “Do you want something to drink? We have beer. I could make coffee. Or hot chocolate?”

“Ooh, hot chocolate, please.” Clint lit up like a little kid at the idea. Phil resolutely ignored what that did to him (much the same way he was ignoring how carefully they hadn't touched).

It was nice having something safe to focus on. When Phil had all the ingredients in a pot on the stove, he said, “Okay, talk to me.”

Clint fidgeted in his seat at the kitchen table. “You remember the scouts at the tournament last summer?”

“You mean the ones from colleges, who couldn't possibly be interested in you?”

“Yeah, those guys.” Clint rolled his eyes at Phil's arch tone. “I got recruited.”

“Clint, that's wonderful,” Phil said. He busied himself with mugs and marshmallows to hide the sappy look on his face.

“I didn't want to say anything until it was all settled. Kinda couldn't believe it myself until then. I had to disclose the settlement with Stark and that made the scholarship process more complicated. But that whole situation – it's weird. It's like it actually made them want to take a chance on me even more. Not only do they get someone for their archery team who they expect to make it to Rio in 2016, but they get the progressive cred of having an out queer athlete.”

Phil snorted as he set down their drinks. “I hope that doesn't feel as crass as it sounds.”

“I don't mind,” Clint said with a shrug. “Never really saw myself as a role model, but more visibility's not a bad thing.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound negative. And you're a fantastic role model.”

Clint looked away, blushing. “Thanks. You're right – they are using me. But I'm using them too, you know? Man, I'm a college student. There's pretty much no downside for me.”

“I am so happy for you,” Phil said. He stopped fighting the goofy, besotted smile that took over his face. “So you started this semester? What do you think?”

“It's kind of like the Twilight Zone. Everybody's so young. Okay, well, not everybody. I'm in this biology class, and my lab partner's like 35. She keeps showing me pictures of her kids. And I always thought the people at Santa Maria were exaggerating when they complained about the cost of their textbooks.”

“Oh, hell no,” Phil laughed. “Those'll break you.”

“It feels like half my scholarship money goes right back to the university. But I do have an apartment. It's about the size of this kitchen, but it's all mine, which is nice.”

“Did you take the train down?”

“Not exactly. Down from where?”

“From New York.”

“I'm not in school in New York,” Clint said, cocking his head.

Phil frowned, nonplussed. “Oh, I guess I just assumed that the scouts were local. So what school are you at?”

“The University of Maryland.”

It took Phil a moment to digest that. The he carefully set down his cup with fingers gone suddenly nerveless. “College Park? Here in DC?”

“Yup.”

“That's like a dozen Metro stops from here.”

“Thirteen, actually. If you don't mind transferring twice,” Clint smirked. Then his cockiness faded and he looked unsure of himself for possibly the first time since Phil had met him. “Surprise?”

“I...I don't know what to say.”

Clint studied the table instead of looking at Phil. “I'm not trying to pressure you into anything. I don't expect anything. But I'd like to see you. Maybe go out to dinner?”

The shock was beginning to fade – the shock of being given something he hadn't even dared wish for. Still, Phil couldn't help teasing. “Like a date?”

“Exactly!” Clint beamed, all earnestness. “We can take things as slow as you want.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Phil took their mugs to the sink, then leaned back against the counter. “And I suppose that since we've agreed to try dating, getting a hello kiss wouldn't be out of line.”

Clint got to his feet and sauntered over. He planted his hands on the counter on either side of Phil, leaned in, and whispered, “Hello,” against Phil's lips.

They had the best of intentions. That first kiss was tentative and sweet and closemouthed. The second had a bit more heat behind it. Then Phil gave in to the desire to find out if Clint's pretty blue sweater was as soft as it looked (it was), and all bets were off.

Several minutes later they broke apart, panting. Phil groaned softly as he arched against the warm, solid bulk of Clint's body. “Taking this to the bedroom would probably be moving too fast.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. He scraped his teeth along the side of Phil's neck. “It's definitely too soon to beg you to fuck me.”

Phil laughed, though it was half-strangled. He managed to get them out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into his bedroom without them having to let go of each other. They peeled each other out of their clothes, laughing and kissing.

While Phil dug around for lube and condoms, Clint surveyed the bed situation. “Man, I hope the bottom bunk's yours,” he remarked.

“It is.” Phil turned and had to take a moment just to breathe. He drank in the sight of the beautiful man standing naked in the middle of his college bedroom. The summer had started to feel like a distant dream. It was almost beyond belief that Clint was here now, that he wanted to try to turn their fling into something long-term.

“What is it?” Clint asked, smiling but concerned.

_I love you._ “I'm just really glad you're here.”

“Me, too. Now get over here.” Clint took the lube and prepped himself. He was fast and far rougher than Phil would have been, but he was too impatient for anything else. He tumbled them onto the bed and barely gave Phil enough time to roll a condom on before he reared back and impaled himself.

“Oh, fuck,” Phil gasped. His eyes rolled back as Clint rode him hard and fast. He thought it couldn't get any better, then Clint grabbed onto the slats of the upper bunk above his head. That extra bit of leverage, the undulation of Clint's hips, the flex of his muscles – Phil lost his grip on reality.

With the last bit of his strength, Phil jackknifed to a sitting position. He dug his fingers into Clint's ass and bit at his nipples. “Holy shit, Phil!” Clint yelled as he came all over Phil's chest.

Phil collapsed back onto the bed. He covered his face with his hands and chuckled breathlessly.

Clint followed him down and nuzzled into the crook of his neck. “I thought about wearing a plug.”

Clint's tone was so bizarrely conversational that it took a moment for Phil's brain to catch up. “Wait, what?”

“So I'd be open and ready for you to slide right in. But then I thought that might be a little too forward.”

Phil's softening cock, still deep in Clint's ass, gave a heroic twitch. “You're going to be the death of me.”

“Another time, then,” Clint promised with a wicked glint in his eyes. The mood was suddenly broken by his stomach rumbling loudly. “I was too nervous to eat lunch,” he admitted. “Dinner?”

Phil smiled. “Want to order pizza and play video games? Nick will let us join his server if we ask nicely.”

Clint grinned back. “Yeah, I'd like that a lot.”


	16. Epilogue

_twelve years later_

Phil paused before he opened the classroom door and used his faint reflection to straighten his tie and smooth his hair down. The weather was still nice enough to leave the top down on his beloved restored convertible, but he did end up all windblown. This evening was important and he wanted to make a good impression.

Clint was holding court near the front of the room. He was talking to several parents, his expressive hands flying. His eyes lit up when he saw Phil slip in, though he didn't take his attention off his audience.

Phil looked around curiously – colorful posters, big “welcome to 3rd grade” banner, orientation materials on each desk, plate of cookies off to one side – before he went to lean against the short counter that ran along one wall. (He also palmed two cookies as he passed. Clint had threatened him with bodily injury if he so much as touched them when they'd come out of the oven the previous night.)

Kids came and went, checking out the room and looking for their friends. In the corner opposite Phil, several girls were chattering excitedly in the earsplitting register common to 8-year-olds.

A woman in a brightly-colored headscarf joined Phil on his perch. “Hi, I'm Disha,” she said, offering her hand.

“Phil,” he responded. He guiltily brushed cookie crumbs off his hand before he could shake hers.

There was a shriek from across the room and the woman – Disha – closed her eyes and sighed. “My Kamala,” she said apologetically. “She was upset that she's not in the same class as any of her friends this year, until she realized she got Mr Barton. Now everyone is jealous of her.”

“Well, Mr Barton is the best,” Phil agreed, trying not to preen too obviously.

“So I've been told. Which one is yours?”

“Actually, Clint – Mr Barton – is. He's my husband.”

She blinked at him for a split second, then chuckled. “How lovely. Are you a teacher, too?”

“No ma'am, I'm in law enforcement.”

“God bless the civil servants.” She patted his knee before standing. “Lucky man.”

He looked over at Clint. Fondness and contentment were written in every line of his body. “I know I am.”

“I was talking about him,” Disha said with an impish smile. “It was very nice to meet you.”

A voice came over the PA system, announcing that it was six o'clock and Meet the Teacher night was officially over.

Clint thanked the parents for coming and told the kids he'd see them on Monday. When everyone had gone, he sauntered over to where Phil was waiting. “Why Special Agent Coulson, did you sneak out of work early just for me?”

“I don't get to see you in your element very often.” Phil looked his husband up and down. In slacks and a vest, the sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled up, Clint was the distillation of Phil's favorite fantasies. “You are incredibly sexy like this.”

Clint reeled Phil in by his tie and kissed him soundly. “If we hang out here for a little while longer, the house'll be quiet when we get there and you can show me just how much –” Phil's phone chirped loudly from his jacket pocket. “Aww, phone,” Clint mumbled, leaning away to give Phil room.

“Pippa wants to know if we'll be home in time to put the kids to bed,” Phil read off. Before Clint could respond, another text arrived. “And we're not allowed to forget she has a date tonight.”

Clint scowled, then brightened. “Is he picking her up at our place? We could stand in the doorway and look intimidating.”

“I don't think so. You know how she feels about overprotective uncles.”

Clint chuckled. “You just wait until Wanda and Pietro are old enough to date. Overprotective uncle's got nothing on overprotective dad.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” Phil said fondly. “Are you ready to go?”

“Give me five minutes to clean up.” Together they put the classroom back to rights. Clint locked the door behind them and took Phil's hand. “Okay, let's go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm too much of a romantic not to end this with a Happily Ever After, even if my source material didn't. (Not that I didn't totally veer away from Dirty Dancing a couple of chapters back, anyway.)
> 
> Once again, thank you to everyone who's read and commented and generally been awesome. I can be found on tumblr under the username im-in-the-wrong-story, where I generally lurk and fangirl over people's fic and art.


End file.
